


Learning Curve

by Smoke_Wisp



Series: Fly me to the Moon [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A new set of Galra rebels, Action/Adventure, Comedy, Drama, F/M, Galra diplomacy, Galra gender roles, Gen, Humor, Mind Meld, Original Paladins backstory, Pride and Prejudice References, Relationship(s), Space Battle, Space Opera, Team Bonding, red lion - Freeform, space forts, unresolved father issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smoke_Wisp/pseuds/Smoke_Wisp
Summary: “The Red Lion chooses her Paladin,” the words were out of Haggar's  mouth before she could think better.Just as fast, Lotor spun about, his hand slapping her face so hard she fell to the floor.“Watch your tongue, Hag,” he hissed. His yellow eyes were slits, his nostrils and ears flared as was common for Galra before battle. “When I attempted to bond with her I was little more than a child, controlled by my father. Small wonder she did not see me as a worthy master. But now? I am a man and a warrior and I will make her accept me.”“Sire,” begged Haggar, still on the floor, “once a Lion has bonded, it cannot be so easily undone.”“Nonsense, Haggar,” Lotor extended his hand to help her up. His voice had returned to its calmer, silkier self, “All I need to do is to kill her current Paladin. It’s the simplest thing in the universe.”Allura must bond with the Red Lion and her fellow Paladins in order to defeat Lotor and Haggar's latest Robeast.(I'm afraid I made Lotor pretty dark and unredeemable, but there will be some fluffy heartwarming scenes later.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In which Lotor gets some stuff off his chest and we find out that Alteans would write lousy fanfics.

Chapter 1

Haggar heard the synchronized footsteps echoing down the corridor. The thumping amplified as the Galra Honor Guard rounded the corner and began their long march along the station’s central corridor. Behind her, Zarkon’s personal bodyguards stiffened and drew themselves to full attention while her druids lowered their heads.

Haggar didn’t spare them a glance. Her eyes were searching out the man in the center of the phalanx, the Crown Prince. Lotor’s pace was slower but his long stride served to keep his place within his guards’ formation. The procession stopped several yards from Haggar and parted. Lotor strode forward.

His armor, purple skin, and ears were pure Galra, but he’d inherited his flowing white hair and pupiled eyes from his mother. Not for the first time, Haggar felt a fierce pride for her race. Whose genetics but an Altean’s could so perfectly augment the Galra genome? Lotor had strength and ruthlessness equal to any Galra general but his Altean heritage gave him the mental flexibility and creativity usually absent in the warrior race.

She was pleased to see that the Prince’s health was much improved from their previous meeting almost a year ago. At that time, he had just been revived from cryostasis. 

The prince had been put in stasis when it became apparent that the Black Lion would not be recovered in the course of a single lifetime. Not wanting to squander the potential of his son, Zarkon had protected Lotor for almost 10,000 years. When Haggar had sensed through her magics that the Lions would soon return, Zarkon had ordered the Prince awakened and readied for his role as a Paladin. 

Events had not gone as expected. But it was fortunate for the empire to have an heir to take the throne while Zarkon healed. If he healed.

Haggar reminded herself that any other being would have perished in that battle, their physical form blown to bits by Voltron’s flaming sword. The fact that the Emperor’s body was still absorbing Quintessence meant he was capable of recovery. Although with their space fortress damaged and stranded in this isolated part of the galaxy she was limited in what she could do. At least the remoteness of their location had helped Haggar and her druids keep the Emperor’s true state from his generals.

She turned her attention to her prince.

“Your highness,” said Haggar, bowing low to the ground as did those around her, “We are honored by your presence.”

 

“I came to pay my respects to my dear father,” spoke Lotor. His voice held no warmth and his eyes remained distant and haughty.

“Of course,” said Haggar. She signaled to the guards to open the door and, alone, the two of them entered Zarkon’s chambers.

A standard room in the fortress’s hospital would have been beneath the Emperor’s stature and inadequate in security. Besides, the Emperor’s physiology, evolved by the steady consumption of Quintessence, required a unique treatment. These considerations led Haggar to convert the throne room into a chamber devoted to Zarkon’s care. She’d set up a massive healing pod on the daises below Zarkon’s throne and filled the far wall with the machines to power it. 

The sound of their footsteps was swallowed by the massive chamber. They walked towards the healing pod, avoiding the tubes and working druids.

“How is he?” asked Lotor as they drew near.

“Your father is strong and I have directed our most advanced technologies alongside my magic to heal him. However…” her voice fell away as they approached the pod.

She had modified the system she’d first used to deliver Quintessence to the Emperor, before he had adapted to absorbing its raw power directly. Now she was delivering twice the usual dosage straight into his blood stream. The effect on his physical form had been immediate. Gone were the gaping wounds, charred skin, mangled limbs, and exposed bone. 

But removing his helmet revealed an aged and battle-scarred face. Worse, there was no life to his eyes or mouth. She could heal the physical form, but his spiritual state was still beyond her magics.

“Can he hear us?” asked Lotor almost tentatively. Of course he would be unnerved, thought Haggar, this was his father, the almighty, brought to this state.

“Perhaps,” she lied, partly to comfort him. She glanced at the vitals monitor. There was a regular spike for the heart rate, flat lines for brain waves. 

The prince nodded and took a step closer. He rested his hands on the side of the pod.

“How impressive, Father,” he spoke at last, “to have battled the greatest war machine ever created and to have come away in a single piece. Truly, you are the greatest warrior to have been born to this reality. And on top of that, surely its greatest ruler. 10,000 years, most alien races don’t last that long before they blow themselves up or fade from memory.” 

He chuckled at his observation and continued: “And it is not only you, but your empire that has remained strong and unchanged. Why, after I awoke from my sleep, I swear I could detect no difference other than the upgrades in the size and weaponry of your battleships. And of course,” he glanced at her, “your new assistant, Haggar and her druids. Although, I shouldn’t have been surprised, you’ve always had a fascination with the Altean magics, and the Alteans themselves.” His words were complimentary, his tone less so. DecogoanTK of silent

“I look upon this empire bequeathed to me, with its space satellites, its deadly armies and battleships, its intricate supply lines linking the astounding mining and production facilities, and almost countless planets and solar systems, and I must say,” he paused for effect, “I am sorely unimpressed.”

Lotor stared at Zarkon’s body, as if this pronouncement would cause him to rise up. Haggar doubted the Prince’s opinion would have moved Zarkon even if he was fully recovered; the Emperor she knew was indifferent to others’ judgement.

Lotor continued. “Were every last Galra to vanish, what imprint would we leave on this universe? Seltevian relics still marvel and confound. The Balmeras’ crystals power starships. Altean diplomacy has altered the course of civilizations. Unilu trade routes bring goods to all corners of the universe. Even the Hemulens, with their compulsion to record trivial details, have given us libraries and access to our past,” as he spoke, his voice pitched higher and more emotional.

“But what of the Galra? We have no great cities, no cultural domination. For 10,000 years, every resource, every conquest, every advance has been in service to you: to feed your thirst for Quintessence and your obsession with locating the Black Lion.”

He leaned as close to Zarkon as the medical equipment would allow. “And in the end, for what? So your brainless, wasted body can rot in a broken fortress in a forsaken corner of the universe. And, ironically, look at what brought you to this state, the very machine you created and sought for so long. It goes beyond tragedy and ends up back as a farce, dear Father. Pardon me while I laugh.”

Lotor barked a cruel and forced laugh that belied the rage of a Galra warrior. When he stopped, his voice was hoarse and stripped.

“It’s hysterical, Father. Instead of obtaining godhood or whatever your megalomaniac ambition was, you will continue this pathetic existence until your horded Quintessence runs out. While I, your disappointment of an heir, will inherit your empire.” Lotor stepped back, and drew himself up proudly. “You once gave me your word that I would pilot the Red Lion as your second in command. Another of your broken promises. But, worry not, I will accept the mantle of emperor as compensation. While you wither away here, I’ll make something of your conquests. I only regret that you’ll never see it. But I’ve learned to rise above such disappointments. Goodbye, Father.”

Lotor, his speech concluded, spun and walked quickly away. There was a bounce to his step and slight twist to his lips that hadn’t been there previously.

Haggar scurried to catch up with him. “Your Highness-“ she began.

“Haggar,” he interrupted, “The 28th Battalion will be arriving shortly. I want every weapon, every portable control system, all undamaged Balmara crystals, and basically anything that’s functional and of value, logged and loaded. A second collection for salvage metal and componentry will arrive with work teams later this week.”

“What about the Emperor Zarkon?” asked Haggar.

“He is neither functional nor of value.”

Haggar gasped and the Prince laughed. “I’m joking. Load him and that oversized healing pod onto a cargo cruiser of your choice and take him to whatever Galra facility you want. Except for the Alonial Ring. That will be the new seat of the Galra Empire. Out with the old, in with the new.”

They left the throne room and Lotor’s guards fell in step behind them.

“But Sire,” objected Haggar, “The Alonial Ring is an open system, within a short distance to both the Datubuni system and the Unilu’s largest moon base. It’s not secure.”

“I have the largest fleet, the most massive army that has ever existed,” said Lotor. “We’ll set up a few battalion barriers and fortify the ring’s defenses.”

“You’re not thinking of living on the Ring itself?” gasped Haggar.

“Eventually, yes, once a suitable palace residence has been constructed. In the meantime, I shall remain in orbit of one of the outer planets onboard the Mirorexs. I’ve been making improvements and it’s almost comfortable.”

“But the Ring was gifted to the Galraina. No male has resided there in 8000 years.”

“Which is possibly why, amongst all our controlled space, it isn’t a utilitarian eye soar.”

“My Lord,” Haggar tried again, “There are no major Ley lines in that sector of space. It will be extremely difficult, if not impossible to continue my Komar research. I can’t make RoBeasts there or use the Komar to extract pure Quintessence.”

“Standard extraction produces adequate quantities and qualities of fuel for our fleet, and I’m sure you can wean what is left of my father off the high grade stuff. As for your research and RoBeasts, as useful as it is to the Empire, there’s no need to conduct it in my residences. Pick a Ley line and work there, I’m sure we can move a base if there isn’t one suitable already. I have no intention to fill my future palace with your creepy phantoms druids. You are always welcome yourself, of course.” He added.

“But-“ 

“That’s enough of this conversation, Witch.”

Haggar fell silent.

“Have you located the Castle of Lions yet?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yes,” said Haggar slowly, “It’s in a difficult system to enter without jump technology.”

“And the Red Lion, is she with them?” He made it sound casual, but Haggar detected a slight unease to his question.

“We believe so.”

“I’d so love to see her again. It’s been such a long time since I stood outside her barrier waiting to be let in. Father tried so many approaches, and I heard he had you working on it too. Hilarious, really. I watched the footage of that Earthling thief. Apparently, what I should have done was sneak in, assault a few guards and get myself sucked out an airlock.”

“The Red Lion chooses her Paladin,” the words were out of her mouth before she could think better.

Just as fast, Lotor spun about, his hand slapping her face so hard she fell to the floor.

“Watch your tongue, Hag,” he hissed. His yellow eyes were slits, his nostrils and ears flared as was common for Galra before battle. “When I attempted to bond with her I was little more than a child, controlled by my father. Small wonder she did not see me as a worthy master. But now? I am a man and a warrior and I will make her accept me.”

“Sire,” begged Haggar, still on the floor, “once a Lion has bonded, it cannot be so easily undone.”

“Nonsense, Haggar,” Lotor extended his hand to help her up. His voice had returned to its calmer, silkier self, “All I need to do is to kill her current Paladin. It’s the simplest thing in the Universe.”

*****

To say the Apocryteans had hidden their headquarters well was putting it mildly. While the location didn’t have the flare of the Blade of Marmora’s bases, its isolation from any civilizations, or even habitable planets, made it unlikely that anyone would stumble upon it by chance. It appeared that the sole surviving Apocrytean, P’Talaquos, was the first to take up residence in the 10,000 years since the original Paladins had defeated her bellicose ancestors and ended the threat they posed to the universe.

The base was positioned within the solar system’s five suns – three red giants, a yellow sun, and a white dwarf – and held in place by their competing gravitational forces. There were no other planets, although a massive asteroid cloud encircled the system, further obscuring the base.

Slav had been quite excited by the improbability of the system’s stability and its cosmological topography. When he started expounding on Ley lines, Allura had gracefully stepped away from the conversation. She doubted Slav had noticed her absence as Hunk seemed to be his intended audience.

Besides, she had an important training session with the Red Paladin. Black Paladin, she corrected herself. Until they located Shiro, Keith would be piloting the Black Lion, and she would be the new Red Paladin. 

Keith thought it best to begin in open space, past the asteroid field and then to work their way back through it once Allura became more comfortable with maneuvering. Flying the Red Lion out, with Keith at the controls, reminded Allura of the other time they’d shared the cockpit, when they’d impulsively ran away together, each convinced that they were Zarkon’s link to tracking the castle. 

She’d barely known him back then. Unlike the other Paladins, Keith didn’t talk about his life back on Earth, or, really, much at all. Recently, she’d noticed that he’d begun to open up more, perhaps as part of him assuming the role of team leader. Not that she’d learned anything personal about him on this trip, talk mostly consisted of a rundown of the various control and weapon systems.

“You probably know most of this,” said Keith, “from before when you flew her.” He stood and let her take the seat.

“My father’s tutorial was less technical, and he forbade me from firing any weapons.” She’d been quite young when the original Red Paladin had let her handle Red’s controls. Allura placed her hands on either side-stick and gave them a steady push to engage the forward thrusters. After a moment, the Lion began to slowly drift forward.

“Um,” Keith sounded puzzled. He put his hands over hers and attempted to push the levers more forward. The Red Lion sprang forward immediately, although the handles didn’t move an inch.

Keith jerked back, “Sorry,” he apologized, “instinct.” Allura wondered if his deference was from politeness, or fear. The moment Keith removed his hands, Red’s engines went back to standby.

She tried her best to hide her frustration, “You have a deep connection with the Red Lion. Perhaps I should have tried this on my own.”

“Maybe,” said Keith in a doubtful voice. Again, she couldn’t decipher his intention. Keith lacked Shiro’s confidence. He was only 17 years old, two years her junior and, not unlike Allura, had been suddenly thrust into a role of responsibility that he neither anticipated nor desired.

“Before you piloted the Black Lion during our recent battle, did you do anything to establish your bond with her?” asked Allura.

“I told her I needed to pilot her to save Shiro,” said Keith, “Like the first time I flew her.”

“The first time?” asked Allura.

“It was when Shiro and I got separated from the rest of you after our first battle with Zarkon. When I caught up with Shiro he was being attacked by these giant lizard creatures and the only way to rescue him was to use the Black Lion,” Keith looked confused, “Shiro didn’t tell you this?”

Allura shook her head. 

“I figured he had and that’s what convinced you to support me in taking over his position,” said Keith. “He did talk to you, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Allura wasn’t sure how much to reveal about the extent of Shiro’s confidence. It had explained why Keith was so quiet about his past. “He spoke to your character and conveyed his trust in you.”

For a moment, she thought Keith might be blushing, but he turned away from her too quickly to be sure.

“Red was harder to convince, actually,” said Keith, “you need to be persistent.”

“I’ll try asking her directly,” said Allura. Of all the Lions, her connection with Red had been the most aloof. Allura wasn’t sure if it was simply Red’s nature, a side effect of her long time spent imprisoned by the Galra, or if the problem lay with Allura and her own tangled emotions over her father, the Red Lion’s original Paladin. “Red Lion, until we locate Shiro, Keith must pilot the Black Lion and lead the team. And we need all five lions to form Voltron. I realize this is a lot to ask of you, but would it be all right if I become your Paladin, at least for a little while.”

Allura reached out with the part of her mind she used to communicate with the Space Mice and felt the presence of the Red Lion. Red felt … prickly. Allura attempted to send soothing thoughts to her and as she did this, she sensed another presence. Unlike the nervous hum of the Red Lion, this presence felt warm, supportive, with a confidence that filled her, lessening her trepidation.

Allura shifted the controls to execute an upward right turn. The Lion was a bit sluggish, but she did respond.

“Way to go,” said Keith. In Allura’s mind the second presence flared and radiated heat. Of course, this would be him. She pulled back, not sure if he’d even been aware of their connection, but certain he wouldn’t want to know that she had been reading his emotions this way.

“I think I’ll fly around here first,” said Allura. She executed the sequences that Keith had demonstrated. The slight lag remained, something in their connection was off. Allura wasn’t sure if they simply needed more time together, or if Red was having a hard time with both her and Keith’s minds so close. She flew towards the asteroid field, landing on a rock several times larger than Red.

“Good girl,” said Allura. She looked to Keith to see if he might have some comments or things to try. The Black Paladin was watching her intently, but saying nothing. Allura urged the Red Lion forward. The asteroids were sparse here, but it still gave her a chance to try maneuvers.

“How did King Alfor become the Red Paladin?” Keith asked suddenly. 

“He won her through his accomplishments as a warrior,” Allura said. “Zarkon was determined to have the best pilot for the Red Lion, so he held a competition, one on one combat. I’m certain he expected a Galra to win, but my father was an incredible swordsman and he bested them all.” Allura guided the Red Lion to another large asteroid, this time diving straight towards it, pulling up before she got too close. Red was becoming more responsive, perhaps she liked the challenge.

“That must be where you get your reflexes from,” said Keith.

“Before he was a Paladin, he was a knight in the royal guard.” It was pleasant to discuss her father, and a pity that Alfor never had a chance to meet the Earthlings. 

“He was royalty and a knight?” asked Keith.

“Oh, he wasn’t the king, or even a prince back then,” Allura wasn’t sure if Keith was asking out of genuine interest or simply to have something to talk about. She decided it didn’t matter. “My mother, Falla, was part of the royal family and my father became a prince when he married her.” Allura darted the Lion through several smaller rocks. “It was a highly unlikely set of events that caused them to even meet.” It seemed proper to reminisce about Alfor while she piloted the Red LIon. “Would you like to hear the story?”

“Sure,” said Keith, and this time he didn’t sound like he was just being polite.

“My mother was traveling with her retinue on an interstellar tour and their spaceship suffered some minor damage so they switched to a commercial starship. My father happened to be part of the crew.”

“So, a commoner can marry a princess?” asked Keith.

“My father was a duke’s son. His father was part of a diplomatic team based in the Galra empire. Alfor had an adventurous streak and wanted to travel but the Duke refused to give him the funds. So father signed up on the first ship that would take him, the same one that my mother was traveling on. My father said it was love at first sight, in a doomed romantic sort of way because he knew the Duke would never consent to their union. Father was prepared to be disowned.”

“For marrying a princess?” asked Keith.

“Father didn’t know she was a princess. She was pretending to be a maid, just a lowly member of the royal retinue.”

“And why was she pretending?”

“It was to fool the Unilu pirates.”

“Pirates?”

“They’d captured the ship. My father and mother not only managed to evade them, but they actually took down the head pirate, freed the prisoners, and saved the ship.”

“So,” Keith paused for almost twenty ticks while Allura succeeded in taking Red through a tight turn and pulling out of the ensuing roll. “The ship was boarded by space pirates. Your mother pretended to be a maid to hide from them. She met your father and neither of them knew the other’s true identity. And then the two of them fought the pirates and freed the ship?”

“Father was simply magnificent with the sword. And Altean Princesses are expected to be able to defend themselves. Oh, did I mention that Coran was present as well?”

“No,” said Keith, “you forgot that bit.”

“I’m afraid we Alteans are wretched storytellers. Coran says it’s because we’re detail-oriented and narratively distracted. It doesn’t stop us from loving a good tale. That’s one of the reasons we’re drawn to other alien cultures.”

Keith flashed a smile, and not his usual tight lipped one. His eyes creased and a dimple appeared to the left of his chin. It softened his features. “Al-“ he started, but he was cut off by a clanging alarm. “Dive right!” Keith shouted.

Allura reacted instantaneously, or maybe it was Red. Either way they accelerated into the turn, just ahead of a volley of lasers.

“Galra,” said Allrua as she caught sight of their black and purple attacker. It continued to fire but couldn’t follow the Red Lion’s tight turn and Allura pulled to safety behind the nearest asteroid.

“There’s another.” Keith pointed. A second Galra fighter was heading straight towards them. 

“On it.” Red opened her mouth, shooting her own lasers and accelerating straight at the enemy. Allura won the game of nerves; the other ship ducked down and the Red Paladin flew the Lion onward and up.

“Coran,” she tried the communication link, “Coran, it’s Allura. We’re under attack.” 

“Our signal’s not getting through,” said Keith, “I think the system’s stars are throwing off some sort of interference.”

“I’m detecting another fighter,” said Allura, “It’s fast.”

“Where?” asked Keith. His eyes were darting about, trying to find a visual confirmation.

A large asteroid was taking up most of the front view. It glowed briefly before exploding and sending rocks of all sizes scattering. As Allura had Red dodge the flying boulders, she caught sight of the third ship. It was larger with a blue emblem she couldn’t catch. But it was the massive cannon, already beginning to glow in preparation for its next discharge, that she really noticed.

“Steady yourself, Keith,” she said as she jammed both side-sticks forward. This time, there was no lag. If anything, Red anticipated the command. They dove full-out through the field, weaving amongst the rocks like they were on a rail.

“You were holding back on me, Red,” Allura gently chastised. Red responded with even more speed.

“Smaller guy is still on our tail,” said Keith.

“We’ll see if he can follow this.” Allura twisted out of the spin and headed towards a spiky asteroid. Closer and closer they came until its surface filled her screen. At the last moment, she pulled back. Her pursuer didn’t manage to react in time and the crash sent out a flare of light. Hoping the explosion would mask their trajectory, Allura skimmed around to the backside of the asteroid and alighted softly on its surface.

“I think you lost them,” said Keith.

“For now,” said Allura. “Is there a battleship or cruiser with them?”

“Not unless it’s hidden by cloaking technology.”

“Their warrior machismo would never allow it. It’s just the three ships, then.”

“You want to try to evade them by flying back through the asteroid field?” asked Keith.

“No,” said Allura, “I want to blast them out of the sky. I think this might be Red’s influence.”

Any softness or warmth had vanished from Keith’s face. But there was still a hint of a smile as he nodded in agreement. 

Allura returned the nod. She engaged the side-sticks to push off. The Red Lion didn’t move. She jiggled the sticks and tried again. Nothing. They were stuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Allura battles wills with the Red Lion, Coran comes clean about the original Paladins, Mavalok files his report, and Hunk discovers some extra baggage.

Chapter 2

 

“No,” said Allura, “I want to take them down.” She slammed both side sticks forward, but instead of roaring into action, the Red Lion remained still. Allura jerked the levers back and tried again to no avail. 

Since turning control of Red over to the Princess, Keith had done his best to separate himself mentally from the Lion. Red had not returned the favor. Keith could feel every ounce of her displeasure. She had tolerated this arrangement long enough and now she wanted her chosen Paladin back before she resumed the fight.

“Red Lion,” said Allura, her voice urgent, but not distraught, “we can’t let the Garla follow us back to the Castle or relay our location. We need to take them out quickly.”

If it was possible for an AI to telepathically snub a person, that was what Red was doing.

Keith remembered something Shiro’s classmate, Lana, had told him: Women, unlike men, ask for directions. So, if a smart, strong, independent woman does not ask for your opinion, then assume she knows what she’d doing. Lana and Shiro had been neck in neck for first place standing at the Garrison and she had been the backup pilot for the Kerberos mission.

So Keith kept his mouth closed, letting the battle of wills play out in front of him.

“Lion,” Allura’s voice was sharper, more commanding this time, “I am aware that your desire is that I hand over the controls to Keith. His temperament and personality fit with yours and it is the reason I chose him to be your Paladin. Remember that, I chose him before you chose him,” she paused, letting her words sink in. 

“You are part of this team, part of Voltron, that is not optional. You have every right to be unhappy with this temporary arrangement but you will do your part.” Allura took a deep breath, “Now, I am going to pilot you, and you are going to respond, like you would for Keith, like you did for my father, Alfor, and together, we will defeat these Galra. Because from now, until I say otherwise, I am the Red Paladin. Capisce?”

Keith could feel Red in his mind. She was confused, indignant, awed and eager. That’s why the Princess is in charge, he told Red. 

Allura rammed the side-sticks forward. This time, the Red Lion roared and vaulted off the asteroid. Keith considered complimenting or cheering Allura on; it didn’t seem necessary. There was one thing, though, “Capisce?” asked Keith.

“Lance has been teaching me useful Earth slang,” said Allura, “did I use it in the proper context?”

“Definitely,” said Keith. Allura allowed herself a small smile which was unexpectedly pleasing to him. 

The monitor flashed an updated location of the smaller Galra ship. The Red Lion charged after it, catching it by surprise. Allura fired her lasers and the fighter ship dodged. She urged the Red Lion forward and it cut the distance in half.

“It has some sort of shielding,” said Keith as the lasers scattered. 

“We’ll just have to get closer,” said Allura. The Galra swung tight around an asteroid and Red followed. In another moment it would be close enough to take out with the plasma gun.

“Allura, look out!” The fighter had been the bait, drawing them into a trap. Allura and Keith both saw the larger ship a second before it launched what looked like a volley of golden balls. The orbs hung lazily in front of them before detonating. Red took damage. The smaller Galra ship, also in the line of fire, exploded into nothing.

“He destroyed his teammate,” said Keith. Allura’s focus was elsewhere, looking for an escape. With multiple alarms reporting damage, she barreled away, just ahead of their foe.

“How badly are we damaged?” she asked.

“Red can handle it.” Keith assured her. He braced himself as the Lion took them on a wild ride, trying to elude the fighter and its weapons. This wasn’t a normal Galra ship. It was faster, more agile, and he’d never seen them use weapons like this. The pilot was top-notch too.

Allura was keeping ahead of the new ship, but just barely, and they could only take one more direct hit. She cut behind one rock, dove and arched backwards on the next. Still, she couldn’t shake the Galra. Keith watched the Princess’s manic eye movements over the readouts trying to take it all in. He’d seen his classmates in such a state, usually just before they misjudged the situation. 

One of the golden orbs skimmed the Red Lion’s back left foot, and the explosion hurled them sideways. Allura got Red under control just in time to avoid the next round. The explosions gave them just enough cover to dart forward through a tight cluster of asteroids and momentarily lose the Galra. New emergency notifications were popping up all over the screens.

“Keith,” Allura began in a quiet voice. She stared at the displays, a look of resignation creeping into her features. Before she could continue, Keith jumped in.

“Remember, you said the Red Paladin flies more by instinct more than skills,” He placed his hand on her shoulder, the way Shiro used to. “Trust your skills.” 

Allura didn’t say anything, just nodded, and launched the Lion forward.

They came out flying parallel to the Galra fighter. It curved to meet them, but not as tightly as the Red Lion, nor as fast. Keith steadied himself with his other hand as they charged it. Allura came up alongside the ship. The pilot tried to twist his ship so as to blast them with his thrusters, but Allura was too quick. Red’s jaws clamped down on a wing, her leg slamming into the back of the ship. Lion and ship’s combined momentum sent them tumbling.

From their angle Keith could see the smoky cover of the cockpit and the details of the seal printed on the ship’s back. It was different from previous Galra markings -- a blue star-like shape with the top two points curving upward. 

Besides him, Allura gave a little gasp. Red’s jaw lock loosened and the Garla ship burst free. Or most of it. A lion-bite-sized bit of wing remained in Red’s jaws. That would put a damper on the ship’s maneuverability. Its pilot seemed to realize his predicament as well. Instead of turning back at them, it engaged its engines and took off at warp speed.

Allura was taking deep breaths, as if trying to calm herself. Keith’s hand was still on her shoulder. He gave a short squeeze before removing it. 

“Nice job,” he said, “Red Paladin.”

*****

“I’m just saying, it’s been like three vargas already, doesn’t that seem to be stretching things?” said Lance, “I mean, how long did it take you to learn to fly your Lion, Pidge?”

“Lance,” barked Pidge, “Change. The. Subject.” She scowled back into her screens. 

She appeared to be scanning through alien images but she kept sliding them off screen when Hunk looked. Coran was busying himself at the bridge’s navigation station. Hunk would like to run some systems checks himself, but it was difficult with Lance’s nonstop pacing.

He’d been asking for assurance that Keith and Allura were focused purely on flying maneuvers continuously since they’d left, nearly three vargas ago. 

Honestly, it did seem like Keith and Allura were taking their time out there. Not that any of them saw women in general, and the Princess especially, as some kind of conquest, but if Hunk was the betting type, he’d put his money on Keith. That guy had the strong, silent and messed up vibe that women, in Hunk’s experience, generally fell for. 

“It just seems-“ began Lance.

“Hey, I know,” Hunk needed to change the subject before Pidge threw something at Lance, “how about we have Coran tell us about who the other Paladins were. That would be distracting in an informative way, right?”

Pidge looked up from her monitor. “Ooh, that sounds promising. Spill it, Coran,”

“Well, I’m not sure-“ began Coran.

“Not this song-and-dance, again” said Lance, “we’ve totally bonded with our Lions, knowing who used to warm the seats before isn’t going to change our relationship.” 

“I was going to say,” said Coran in that offended voice he did so well, “that we might want to wait for the Black Paladin to return.”

“Why?” said Lance, “Keith already knows who previously piloted his Lions. And I, for one, am tired of you dropping bombshells about their identities.”

“Bombshells?”

“You know,” said Pidge, counting on her fingers, “the black Paladin was an evil megalomaniac bent on taking over the universe. The Red Paladin happens to be Allura’s dad. The Yellow Paladin was a woman, just tell us who they were already.”

“Wait, the yellow Paladin was a woman?” asked Hunk. “I mean, wow. And I can totally see it.” Yellow had a motherly vibe to her. And she was at her strongest when she was protecting others. Just one more reason that Hunk was sure he’d got the best Lion.

“Yeah, she was an Altean named Lithelia,” said Pidge.

“Correction, she was one fourth Galra.” Coran never passed up opportunity to explain things to the Earthlings. “Her grandfather was a Galra ambassador to Altea who fell in love with an Altean general. Their story has been immortalized in verse”

Coran closed his eyes and began:

“There was a young Galra from Rarms,  
Who found Alteans not lacking in charms.  
A strong woman he spied,  
So when he caught her eye,  
He went native with a native in arms.”

“It’s clever because ‘in arms’ could mean an embrace or refer to Lithelia’s grandmother’s military background,” explained Coran. not for the first time, Hunk couldn’t decide if Alteans enjoyed pulling his chain or were just plain bonkers. 

“So, she was a good part-Galra, like Keith?” Please be a good Paladin, please be a good Paladin, begged Hunk. He didn’t need any more angst right now.

“Oh, the Paladins were all good and wonderful people,” Coran assured them.

“Except Zarkon,” said Pidge.

“Err, yes,” said Coran, looking momentarily uncomfortable, “Pidge,” he said more brightly, “the Green Paladin was a Seltevian. His name was R’tchkiki.” How did Coran’s tongue manage that kind of linguistic gymnastics?

“Seltevian?” said Pidge, “as in the race that built the Lions?”

“Yes. R’tchkiki was their official representative. Personally, I suspect the Seltevians didn’t trust us not to void the warranty. He was yellow and green, quite tall, lots of tattoos, and he had these amazing eyes.” Coran got a melancholy, lost look in his own eyes.

“Now,” he turned to Lance, “the Blue Paladin-“

“Was a round, furry alien with body odor who only spoke in grunts,” interrupted Lance. Hunk recognized the look on his friend’s face.

“What? No-“

“A twee, eight-year-old genius with an annoying, squeaky voice and an early bedtime,” Lance was trying to sound dismissive, like he didn’t care. 

“A child? of course not,” said Coran, his confusion suddenly changing to a smile, “what else have you got?”

“An emotionless, pasty-faced android whose goal in life was to become a real boy, and who complained incessantly about people not being logical.” The mask of pretending not to care was starting to slip. Any human would notice that Lance was steeling himself for disappointment. But, of course, Coran was not human.

“Wrong again! You aren’t very good at this game,” said Coran, “I’ll give you one more guess.”

“Some dork who’s not cool like all the other Paladins,” said an exasperated Lance, “the odd-looking, pathetic, always-needs-rescuing, comedy relief type character. I know how this narrative goes, go ahead and tell me, I can take it.”

Coran blinked a few times and then cleared his throat. “Deogan was Altean and considered quite handsome. And I’m not just saying that because we were related. He was my older cousin and, frankly, I thought the world of him.” The wistful smile was back, ten-fold.

“Handsome?” asked Lance, looking less despondent, “Like, cool handsome?”

“I’m not sure if his body temperature was outside the normal range,” said Coran cautiously, “He was, however, hmm, how do I put this…” 

Everyone leaned in.

“As you’re aware, the Alteans were a race of diplomats,” began Coran, “Well, there’s the usual diplomatting. You know: Hello, how do you do, it looks like you’ve got an armada of warships surrounding this developing planet, what if the planet’s inhabitants were to give you exclusive rights to distribute the natives’ intricate and highly coveted woven baskets and in exchange you park your fleet elsewhere, oh, and did we mention the Federation of Altruistic Alien Races will be arriving shortly with their state of the art Peacemaker Class 5 Warships? That sort of diplomatting.”

“And then,” Coran sighed, “then there was the type of diplomatting that Deogan was involved in. The type that involves the quiet and usually discreet movement of money, information, and heads of state across the galaxy, and, sometimes, less quietly, involves explosions, gun battles, and the heads of the heads of state moving across the galaxy.”

“You mean,” Lance’s grin had become watermelon-sized, “he was a special-ops, secret-agent, spy?”

“I’m afraid so,” Coran had bent his head so he couldn’t see the blissed-out look plastered across Lance’s face, “but all that was before he became a Paladin, so you shouldn’t feel too bad.”

“Bad? Coran, this is the most awesome thing you could have told me,” said Lance. “Tell me, was he good with the ladies?” Lance did the eyebrow thing.

“Oh, he was good with everyone.” said Coran, doing the eyebrow thing back.

The way the conversation was going, Hunk was half-frustrated, and half-relieved when Keith’s and Allura’s faces popped up on the main screen. 

“Coran,” said Allura, “we were attacked by three Galra fighter ships. Two of them were destroyed, but one escaped and may be on its way to alert the empire to our location.”

“Princess, are you okay?” asked Coran. She looked all right, and there was a definite sparkle in her eyes.

“Yes, we are both fine. The Red Lion fought remarkably well,” Allura assured him. “However, we should depart this system sooner rather than later. How are we doing on prisoner evacuations?”

“The last set is packing up now and almost ready to head out,” said Coran. “We were waiting for your return to open a wormhole and send them to the Datubuni system.”

“Good,” said Keith, “that should leave us plenty of time, the asteroid belt makes for a good barrier. No sign of P’Talaquos, then?”

“No,” said Coran, “she somehow slipped away. Things were fairly disorderly after the battle.”

“Do you supposed P’Talaquos escaped on that ancient Altean ship?” asked Pidge, “I was able to track it as far as the Datubuni asteroid colonies using its residue Quintessence, but its next jump was cloaked and I lost it.” 

“Not possible, P’Talaquos was in the Unilu warship firing on the Altean ship before it jumped,” said Keith, “I’m not sure who was flying it, but they weren’t a friend of P’Talaquos.”

“It could be …” began Lance and then got quiet. Everyone waited, “it could be what that Galra Mavalok was after. He said he had his own mission.”

“Are you saying a single Galra was able to reactivate a 10,000 year-old Altean castle grade battleship and get it to execute a wormhole jump?” asked Allura, “That’s impossible. It is impossible, isn’t it Coran?”

“Well, the universe is a strange and surprising place,” said Coran, “We did just fight off an alien from a race that was thought to be extinct for just as long. Slav, what do you think?” 

The multi-armed weasel-owl alien suddenly rose up from behind Hunk, causing him to jump out of his chair.

“Galra are about as far down the Quintessence spiritually meter as it is possible to measure,” said Slav, “and you’d need an extraordinarily high level of pure Quintessence to power that sort of jump. So, it’s a very low probability. Taking into account Bayesian priors and-“

“What if Mavalok was part some other alien?” asked Keith, “Kolivan said there’s lots of hybrid Galra.”

“He did look a little-“ Pidge began.

“Short,” interjected Lance with a smile, “like Keith.”

“-different,” continued Pidge, “than most Galra soldiers we’ve encountered.”

“What did his eyes look like?” asked Coran, “Did he have corneas and pupils?”

“Nope,” said Lance, “standard full yellow.”

“Then he’s likely full Galra, they all have yellow to white eyes. Unless they’re female, then it’s red to black. Always convenient when there’s an obvious gender feature, leads to less faux pas and unintentional marriage proposals.”

“It can’t be that easy to hide such a ship,” said Keith, “I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of him.”

*****

“To conclude,” said Mavalok, “the repairs I have described make the Kyanite fully functional for transportation, long term sustainability, and wormhole jumps. The ship’s Altean weapon system needs work, and given that no one has worked with these systems in 10,000 years, it will be trial and error for a while. But I think it’s doable, we’ve already figured out the shield defenses.”

The other Galra present nodded in approval and Mavalok stood a bit straighter. He glanced towards Commander Emaksolam, a particularly burly Galra with a full beard, bushy hair and a mighty pair of incisors any Galra would give, well, their teeth for. Mavalok had joined the rebel operation to fight the Galra Empire’s oppression, but he’d be the first to admit that, under Emaksolam’s leadership, raiding Empire transports and sabotaging their bases was a lot of fun.

“Good work, Mavalok,” he said, “We’ll devote resources to the weapons later. Our priority is to transfer as much of our base to the Kyanite. I’ve received word that Prince Lotor is moving his base of operations to the Alonial Ring, so we will no longer have the luxury of operating in the open here. We don’t yet have the resources to fight off him, much less the rest of the Galra empire, and so our operation will need to go undercover. Arrangements have been made to relocate to the Datubuni asteroid minus the key members of the organization in contact with the Galraina. As long as we’re not mistaken for the Castle of Lions we should be able to employ our new jump technology in future endeavors. I have sent each of you your orders. We’ll be leaving in six vargas. Meeting adjourned.” 

As the Galra filed out, Emaksolam motioned to Mavalok, “If you please, stay a moment.”

Emaksolam closed his office door. Mavalok wasn’t significantly shorter than most of his comrades, but standing next to his commander, he felt diminutive. Or, as insolent Lance had put it, a short stack.

But then Emaksolam would probably dominate any Galra. Mavalok had no doubt he could best any Galra soldier, or member of the Blade, those so-called rebels.

“I want to thank you personally for successfully delivering the warship. I had a backup plan, but it would have been a compromise,” Emaksolam’s voice was a tad softer and his lips twitched upwards as if on the way to a smile before stopping and returning to their natural slight frown. “I also wish to go over those details I asked you to censor from your official report, namely your interactions with the Voltron Paladins.”

Mavalok tried not to stiffen. He’d actually been relieved not to have to admit that he’d been captured by the Blue and Green Paladins and forced to cooperate with them, or that he had relied on Lance’s skills as a pilot and his shuttle’s stealth technology to follow P’Talaquos to her base. And there was the matter of giving up the device their scientist had engineered to block P’Talaquos’s mind control. Of course, Mavalok had been completely upfront and honest with these details in his written report to Emaksolam, which made this one-on-one even more awkward.

“These new Paladins have caused the Galra Empire, and Zarkon in particular, a great deal of inconvenience, in a very a short time span. The Blade seem to have thrown their lot in with them. I’m contemplating whether forming an alliance with the paladins might be advantageous. What can you tell me of them?”

“Well,” this wasn’t exactly what Mavalok had been expecting, “I only met the Green Paladin briefly. She’s female,” Mavalok snuck a glance at Emaksolam to see if he was surprised or disapproving a woman warrior, but he gave no indication either way, “obviously competent, and significantly more intelligent than the Blue Paladin.”

“And your impression of the Blue Paladin?”

“Permission to speak frankly, sir?” asked Mavalok

“Of course,” said Emaksolam.

“He is the most annoying, thick headed, full-of-himself hedonist I’ve ever had the misfortune to be stuck with. And I once hitched a two quintent ride with a transport full of Toborans.”

Emaksolam raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

“He’s also,” Mavalok took a deep breath because this was the hard part, “loyal to his comrades, astute, adaptable, gregarious, and not completely hopeless as a pilot.”

“So, on the balance?”

Mavalok made a face, “I don’t hate him.” 

“And that’s the reason you gave him our only Apocrytean mind blocker?” Emaksolam’s voice wasn’t obviously angry.

“I had to,” said Mavalok, “without it Lance would have awoken the sentries, and then both he and the Red Paladin would have been under P’Talaquos’s control. And it was due to the Lions, the Black Lion especially, that I escaped with the Kyanite.”

“The Blue Paladin’s name is Lance?” Emaksolam said the name carefully.

“Um, yeah. I must have forgotten to write that in my report.”

“Anything else you might not have mentioned?”

Back in uncomfortable territory. Mavalok didn’t think his commander was interested in hearing about the time Lance had defeated an evil mermaid queen or the other tales he’d used to entertain Mavalok as they tracked P’Talaquos’s ship. “Um,” he racked his brains, “oh, the Red Paladin is part Galra.” 

“Part Earthling, part Galra?” Emaksolam turned away and walked towards his desk.

“Yeah, um, Lance called him Keith.” And a bunch of other insults that made it seem like Lance was trying too hard.

Emaksolam stood silent and still for a long moment. Finally, he said, “That is an interesting wrinkle and something we should keep between us.” He turned to Mavalok and handed him a data cube. “Here’s your next mission. I believe you’ll find it engaging.”

*****

The Yellow Lion guided the final cargo ship to the blue wormhole. “Have a great trip!” Hunk signed off as the ship disappeared. Well, that was the last of them. Hunk turned back to the castle.

“They’re safely off, Coran,” he reported. It felt good rescuing P’Talaquos’s prisoners. Not that Hunk thought that the assortment of Unilu, Datubuni, and other likely mercenaries would learn from this experience and make the universe a better place, but at least they weren’t assisting a psychopathic monster alien. He hadn’t seen P’Talaquos, but given Keith’s description and the way she cocooned her victims around the space station, that was probably for the best.

“Good work, Paladin,” said Coran, “Now get to your hangar, we’re about to wormhole out of here ourselves.”

Hunk felt the castle jump moments after the hangar doors closed. After mentally assuring Yellow that she was the best Lion ever, he went over to her storage bay where he had stashed a couple interesting artifacts that he’d found. Or maybe a several, or a several severals. Oh, alright, he’d gone a bit Pidge crazy, but they had all looked so interesting and potentially useful, and besides, the castle wasn’t lacking in storage room. 

The door hissed open and Hunk jumped back at the sight of two figures. He went for his Bayard and then stopped. He’d seen these two before. Maybe he should have done a final head count.

“Um, Coran? Princess? Guys?” Hunk said into his intercom, “Can you come down here? We’ve got a slight, make that two, slight problems.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Castle's occupancy increases by 20% (18% if you include the cow) and Haggar reveals her latest RoBeast canidate.

“And when I opened up Yellow’s storage compartment, I found these two,” said Hunk, concluding his story to rest of the crew.

Lance noticed that even Slav had come down. Curiosity apparently won over the probability of him being taken over by Apocryptean brain-huggers. It wasn’t every day that aliens showed up asking to join the castle’s crew.

Lance eyed the two stowaways, his gaze naturally lingering on the female. 

Of course, she was totally too old for him, somewhere in between old-mom and young-grandmother. And his experiences with Nyma had made him swear off her race, the Feryamin, for good. Which was too bad, because man, did their women age well.

The word he’d use if he was flirting, which he wouldn’t, was handsome. She had full lips, deep blue marble eyes, and a dress that covered her body but didn’t hide a single curve. There was a streak of white in her otherwise auburn hair – she had it up in an elaborate braid-bun – and a few wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Lance suspected lines had been acquired through laughter, not frowns. 

The other alien was small, turquoise, with a big nose, bulging eyes, and a mop of red hair that could have been taken for ear flaps. His looks, combined with the formless smock he wore, reminded Lance of a muppet.

“I am Nannee,” said the Feryamin, “and my Hemulin companion is Bashewl.” 

“Nanny?” repeated Lance.

“Nan nee,” she corrected him, and smiled kindly. Yep, definitely laugh wrinkles. “We were some of P’Talaquoes’s first victims and all that remains of the FalBatTasker Carnival of Wonders. We have nowhere else to go. I’ve spent the whole of my existence traversing the stars. I’m too old to settle down now.”

Bashewl the Hemulin spoke with a nasal but earnest voice, “Technically, I could return to my home world. but I refuse. I ran away from home for very good reasons.”

“You ran away from home to join the carnival?” asked Coran. He was twirling his mustache, a sure sign that he approved.

“Why yes,” Bashewl replied, bobbing his head, “when I was 128 years-old.” Did Hemulins age very slowly? Did their planet have a really short orbit so a year was closer to a few Earth months? Or was this just another of those crazy-weird alien things?

“Bit of a midlife crisis, then?” said Coran. Definitely a crazy-weird alien thing.

“Yes, precisely,” said Bashewl, “there was a day when I looked around my office and realized I couldn’t stand to be an accountant anymore. If adding and deducting was all there was to life, then what was the point? And it just so happened that FalBatTasker Carnival was in town. I bought a ticket to the show, and I never came back.”

“So,” asked the ever-curious Hunk, “what did you do at the carnival?”

“Oh, I was their accountant.”

“And I,” said Nannee, drawing the conversation back her way, “was the medium, the truth speaker, the one-who-sees-all.”

“You can tell the future?” asked Pidge.

“The future, the past, whatever is cloaked and hidden. My mind’s eye will reveal.” 

Nannee turned to look at each Paladin, and then at Coran, Allura and Slav. Her eyes returned to Hunk. She took a step towards him, her large three-fingered hand held in front of her. 

In a slightly deeper voice, she said, “I sense a big heart within you, Yellow Paladin. You are capable of mercy and see the best in others. And I feel there is one to whom you are particularly drawn, one who is far away but often in your thoughts. She is different from you, and yet you understand her.”

“You mean Shay?” Hunk was blushing, “we’re friends, but it’s not like-“

“I sense you carry something, a token, to remind you of your time spent together.”

Hunk’s mouth dropped. “Wow! You saw that?”

“Saw what?” asked Pidge.

“This,” Hunk reached into one of his belt pouches – man purses – and dug out a blue-green crystal. “It’s from the Balmera. Shay gave it to me before we left. I carry it around because, well, it’s cool, you know?”

“If you were part of the carnival, you would have known P’Talaquos before she escaped, correct?” asked Keith bringing the conversation back into serious territory. And here Lance had been hoping to ask Nannee to do a reading on him next.

“I was there on the day S’Varjay bought the Apocryptean from those Unilu ship scavengers,” said Nannee bitterly.

“For a mere 230 GAC,” added Bashewl, “I don’t think they knew what they’d found, otherwise they would have charged more, or probably smashed her outright.”

“She was small, no bigger than my hand,” said Nanee, “but I had a premonition that she would bring a darkness to our family… If only I had heeded my vision.”

“Actually,” interjected Bashewl, “we didn’t know she was a real Apocryptean. But she resembled the ancient descriptions of that race and it made for a great draw, our profits went up 13 percent the year we started advertising we had an Apocryptean. And she kept growing so by the time we began to suspect she was the genuine article, she was too big and fast to easily dispose.” 

“Were either of you there when P’Talaquos broke out of her cage?” Keith pressed on. Considering he’d spent time as a P’Talaquos mind-controlled captive, Lance figured Keith had the right to be a bit obsessed about her.

The Hemulin shook his head, “not I.”

“Yes, I was there,” said Nannee, “How I wish I could forget that day. The show started as usual with S’Varjay using the electroshock stick to get her to stand on her hind legs. He had lowered the bars when P’Talaquos’s claws shot out. She grasped his arm and he screamed, but only for a moment before she …” 

“Killed him?” asked Pidge.

“Ate him,” said Keith as if this was an important point to clarify. Poor Coran’s face had gone pale and Lance figured he had better keep an eye on the guy in case he fainted. Keith sure wouldn’t.

“Did you see anyone helping her?” he was asking, “Or, did you see how she got that staff she used to control people’s minds?”

“No, it was over too fast,” said Nannee.

“How about when she got into your mind?” Keith was now seriously getting into the interrogation, “Did you catch any of her memories?”

“What do you mean?” asked Nannee while Bashewl looked confused.

“When P’Talaquos first started to control me, I caught a glimpse of her early life. Someone was helping her, feeding her something to make her smarter. Did either of you see any of that?”

“I recall being shocked by her lack of numerical ability,” said Bashewl, “she could barely count, must less calculate. I believe she may have utilized my arithmetic skills, probably kept me alive for that reason. But I can’t say for sure, I don’t think I was conscious much during my captivity.”

“She likely used my talents as well,” said Nannee, “how else could she have located the ancient base of the Apocrypteans? I apologize for my role in giving her a strategic advantage and promise you that should we be allowed to stay, we will make our abilities of use to you. Will we be able to stay?” 

Everyone, including Keith, turned to Allura. She’d been quiet until now, and as she cleared her throat, Lance knew she disliked the decision she had to make. 

“We understand your plight, Coran and I also recently awakened to find our world changed and our home gone. As Defenders of the Universe, we will of course help you. However, our work here is dangerous, we could not guarantee your safety. While you seem genuine, and we want to trust you, there is the chance, however small, that…”

“That you could be spies for Zarkon,” Pidge finished the unpleasant accusation.

“Align ourselves with that monster? Never! Why, I personally wouldn’t even associate with an alien who had even a drop of Galra blood.”

Nannee’s passionate outburst was followed by an uncomfortable pause while everyone made a conscious effort not to look in the Black Paladin’s direction.

“I don’t think it’s likely that Zarkon recruited them on the off chance that P’Talaquos would keep them alive, that we would find the hidden base, and that we would liberate them,” said Keith. It was a practical, non-paranoid assessment, very unlike Keith.

“It is highly unlikely,” agreed Slav, “less than a 0.00032% chance.”

“But they could still be opportunists who will sell us out at the first chance they get,” Keith added. Now, that was normal Keith.

“Now, that I’d calculate at over 73%,” said Slav.

“Excuse me,” ventured the Hemulin, “is that a cumulative probability of either of us betraying you? Because I find it difficult to imagine the factors that would make it likely that a Hemulin, one of least devious and most single-tracked minded of all aliens, would do such a thing.”

“And we Feryamins lost our homeworld when Zarkon exploited its natural resources and drained its Quintessence. They sold my people into slavery and worked us until there are only a few thousand of us scattered across the galaxy. I would sooner return to P’Talaquos than to deal with Zarkon.”

“Yes, absolutely, we do so want to believe you,” said Coran, “But we simply cannot risk compromising our mission by taking you on a crew members. Although, I do admit, we are rather understaffed.

“Bit of an understatement, Coran,” said Hunk, “We’re all there is.”

“You mean,” Bashewl said, “You manage a spaceship of this size and complexity while performing your universe-defending duties. How ever do you manage?”

“We don’t get a lot of downtime,” Hunk admitted.

“Are you quite certain you wouldn’t appreciate our help?” Bashewl pressed on, “The universe’s financial institutions are complex, and, when dealing with the Galra banks, potentially deadly. I am versed in all major markets and trading centers. And back at the carnival, Nannee handled the day-to-day logistics. She has a knack for organization and is a top-notch cook.”

“Perhaps,” said Coran, “we should discuss this in private.”

They walked to a spot behind the Yellow Lion’s head. It blocked sight, but probably not sound.

“Princess,” began Coran, “could we please hire the Hemulin? We have numerous items on board that have become priceless antiques and if I could just unload them, we’d have more than enough credits for some critical castle upgrades. But the Unilu have switched to this devilishly tricky form of electronic currency — its value is based on a cryptographic algorithm that confounds my brain whenever I try to understand it. You know that decimal multiplication is not my strong suit and he looks like an honest, hardworking chap.”

“I too,” said Slav, “Would very much like to have the Hemulin as part of the crew.”

“So you two guys can talk math?” asked Hunk.

“Good heavens, no. He’s completely limited to the probabilities of this single reality, while I never work with less than eight neighboring realities. It’s because he is considerably slower and portlier than myself. Should we be invaded by ravenous Hogborths, there is an 89.362% chance that they will eat Bashewl instead of me.”

“Well, one of those is a reasonable argument,” acknowledged Allura.

“Hey,” said Hunk, “if we’re getting an accountant, then we’re getting a cook as well.”

“But Hunk, I thought you liked cooking,” said Pidge.

“I adore cooking, as a hobby and distraction when there’s a really dangerous mission coming up. Cooking for seven people, every day, is work.”

“I’m voting for less food goo,” said Lance.

“Not that this a democracy,” said Pidge, “but I’m with Lance and Hunk on this on.”

“Are you certain?” said Coran, “Feryamin cuisine is, how shall I put it, an acquired taste. Each of their dishes tastes profoundly different. It’s because they add herbs and spices in different combinations. They don’t mix everything together like nature intended, instead each part of the meal takes up its own spot on the plate. And, there’s lots of textured bits in the food that require chewing.”

Like Palov’s dog, Lance found himself salivating.

“Princess,” said Keith, “we can have Pidge set up extra an extra level of security to block all unauthorized incoming and outgoing messages. Plus we’ll configure the castle to track their locations at all times, and we can even use the space-mice to observe them.”

Allura blinked twice, “Well, that does sound secure, and they do seem so eager to stay. We’ll give them a chance and see what happens.”

The Paladins let out a series of whoops and exchanged high fives. Even Keith joined in. Everyone was smiling.

And it was only later that Lance realized this was the first time they had felt so lighthearted since Shiro’s disappearance.

*****

Lotor, flanked by his two officers, made his way through Zarkon’s – now his – battle fortress. Their footsteps echoed through the corridor. Most of the station’s equipment had been removed and now the panels were being detached to get at the circuitry in the walls.

“The work dismantling the fortress is ahead of schedule,” commented Zervick, Lotor’s right-hand man. He was the paragon of a Galra soldier, tall, not a hair out of place and a stoic expression etched into his face. But Lotor knew that hidden behind Zervick’s bland looks was an ambitious and ruthless climber. After he had aligned himself with the Lotor, there were dark rumors of the strings he had pulled, or cut, to advance the upstart prince’s agenda.

“Not that one would notice the difference,” remarked Percreatyn, Zervick’s equal under Lotor’s command, despite his lower rank. One look at him explained his lack of advancement – there was a goblin quality to his features and his eyes, like the prince’s, showed mixed blood, “The more they strip away, the closer it gets to its designers’ goal of function over form.”

Percreatyn owed his current position to three lucky chances. First, his half-Unilu, half-Garla mother had caught the eye of a minor Galra general who was not accomplished enough to earn a true Galarina mate and agreeable to a four-armed consort. Second, Percreatyn being born with the proper number of arms, two, and an intellect as sharp as his tongue, allowing him to excel at the academy and first posting. And third, before he hit the glass ceiling that blocked even the most accomplished mixed- blood Galra, he secured Lotor’s attention. 

“However it looks on the outside, the materials and craftsmanship are top-notch,” said Zervick, “we would be fools not to utilize it for the Prince’s new palace.”

“So long as we hide it away,” said Lotor, “I agree with Percreatyn, it’s properly hideous.” His disgust was more than just an expression of his Altean aesthetics. Zarkon’s flagship had been the nucleus of his father’s power, invincible and ominous. Lotor would strip it of that power – down to the last bolt. 

They arrived in a huge airlock as crammed with equipment as the corridor had been bare. Its docking station had been damaged, and Haggar’s Druids were having to ferry their things over to the cargo ship via shuttles. Apparently moving his father’s life support system had been quite the engineering challenge. The fortress had several functional docking stations which Lotor had reserved for the salvage crew. Haggar had not voiced a complaint, but he was certain she was displeased. 

“The witch is stocking up,” said Percreatyn.

“Most of it is Komar technology, not of use to our engineers,” said Zervick.

“And the Quintessence?” asked Lotor. There were rows of the containers emitting the telltale glow that only appeared around the most highly concentrated Quintessence. 

Both Zervick and Percreatyn stiffened. It pleased Lotor that his words could have such an effect. His father had ruled through fear and it was one of the few principles upon which Lotor agreed with him.

“Just as well that she’s taking it,” he continued, “she’ll need it for the task I’m assigning her. Where is she anyway?”

“Over by that shuttle, my lord,” said Zervick.

Lotor turned to see the hunched figure of Haggar and two druids attempting to move a square, floating container. It was almost too large for the shuttle’s doors and parts of the box kept scraping against the metal, causing a piercing screech that drove Haggar to wave her staff in a pathetic manner. 

What was it about the woman that made him dislike her so, Lotor wondered. She was loyal to his father, but that usually stirred only annoyance. No, his hatred was visceral.

Haggar had served Zarkon for over five decapheebs, maybe more. Such a long time. 

During which, Lotor slept. For 10,000 years he’d been conveniently forgotten, erased. But in Haggar the same Altean genes and personality that in a son had disappointed Zarkon were highly valued. Lotor had been brought low, Haggar had been raised up. 

Percreatyn looked towards the shuttle. “Her? Not so impressive now that she’s no longer at Zarkon’s side.”

“His shadow lent her importance,” said Zervick, “Now she’s simply an old woman who sinks to tricks of magic to fight her battles.”

“I still require her tricks,” said Lotor, “but once Princess Allura and her Paladins have been eliminated, then her services will no longer be required.” He would rule the Garla as a warrior and his triumphs would make his parentage irrelevant. After he transformed the empire, it would be Zarkon who would be forgotten.

Haggar must have heard his footsteps. She turned and executed a low bow, a gesture copied by the druid at her side. He was shorter and better fed than her usual underlings.

“New recruit?” Lotor asked.

“Replacement. The attack by Princess Allura and those treacherous Garla cost me my finest Druids,” said Haggar, “much like your battle with the Red Lion cost us two exceptional pilots.” Haggar unfolded from her genuflection but kept her head lowered so that only her smiling lips were visible beneath her hood. 

“If they were so exceptional, then why were they so easily defeated by the Red Paladin?” Lotor attempted to keep his voice level. Haggar was trying to goad him, “Or rather, by the Red Lion. The beast is an exceptional weapon. But her pilot is weak. These Earthlings lack Galra instincts. He was in a position to finish me when he lost his resolve. His hesitation gave me an opening. Had my ship not sustained critical damage, I might have turned the battle. As it was, I escaped to fight another day.”

“He hesitated?” asked Haggar with something resembling surprise, “that doesn’t fit his past behavior. By several reports, he is the most aggressive and ruthless of the lot.”

“No matter,” Lotor snapped, “my encounter made me realize that I can’t afford to let any of the Lions exist, much less Voltron. Only when it has been destroyed beyond recovery can my plans fully mature.”

“You no longer desire the Red Lion, my Lord?” she asked.

“There are desires and then there is what needs to be done. I shall not repeat my father’s mistakes. I require a Robeast.” 

“You have need of my magic?” 

Did she expect him to beg? He made an almost imperceptible motion with his fingers, signaling for his soldiers to intercede. They stepped forward, towering over the woman.

“We have need of a monster,” said Percreatyn, “One considerably stronger than the ones that previously lost to Voltron.”

“With these vast stores of Quintessence it should be well within your abilities,” added Zervick.

“The strength of the Robeast comes not from the Quintessence, but from the host.” Haggar looked from one officer to the other as if weighing her options. She looked up at Lotor and took a step back.

“My lord is quite fortunate, because recently I acquired a monster particularly well suited for your task. Behold,” she raised her staff and pointed at a box partway up the ramp, that now turned transparent.

Inside was a spindly, greyish-white creature, some sort of giant arthropod. It was difficult to make out its feature because it lay curled up in a ball. As he tried to make sense of it, Lotor experienced a wave revulsion while the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Zervick and Percreatyn pressed forward to get a closer look.

Haggar raised her staff higher, swinging it above her head. A bolt of lighting skittered across the floor of the cage and the creature rose on six of its limbs. Its four arms frantically scratched at the walls while a triangular face shook and vibrated. From its tiny mouth came a high-pitched hum.

“This thing?” Percreatyn laughed, “It doesn’t seem much of a fighter.”

“Quiet,” hissed Lotor, pushing Percreatyn aside to confront Haggar, “What is the meaning of this, witch?”

“My lord recognizes it?” Haggar asked placidly, as if he could ever forget.

“Sire?” asked Zervick looking as confused as Percreatyn.

“It’s a bloody Apocryptean!” Lotor said. That got their attention. Zervick’s instinct took over and he positioned himself between Lotor and the cage, his sword drawn. A split second later, Percreatyn drew his weapon, a laser gun, and pointed it Haggar. He kept his distance from the creature. 

“No need to be alarmed,” said Haggar, “It’s a drone, not a queen. Sterile and practically mindless.”

“Mindless? Then what good is it against Voltron?” asked Lotor.

Haggar chuckled, and Lotor had to fight the urge to strike her.

“She will need a few modifications, my Lord. But when I’m done with her, she will be more than a match for Voltron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one castle denizen missing from the reboot is Nanny, Princess Allura's nursemaid. In her original incarnation she meant well but also got under everyone's skin (and she spanked the Princess once!). So, Nannee is my take on the character, I'll let you speculate on her real intentions/abilities. 
> 
> Next chapter features another cannon character.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which theories are proposed as to the team's failure to form Voltron while Haggar is schooled in the scientific method.

The Red Lion tucked its legs beneath its body and darted forward. As it approached the upright Black Lion, a connector emerged from where its tail would be, if it had one, and joined the now-cylindrical lion to the Black Lion’s shoulder. The Green Lion was performing a similar contortion on the left side. As Blue and Yellow formed legs, both lion arms elongated, waists bending into elbows and mouths transforming into hands.

Finally, the jowl of the Black Lion dropped to reveal a sculpted face -- powerful, indomitable, heroic. 

As always, Coran’s heart skipped a beat as the memory surfaced of the first time he’d seen that face up-close. Ten thousand years melted away and he was again the navigator aboard the cruiser Trilaysis. The bridge was on fire while the captain was telling everyone to hold onto something and brace for impact. On the monitor, the rabid Weblung was charging straight at them. The ship couldn’t take any more and there was no time to evacuate. But then, there appeared a circle of blue from which emerged the giant robot, its sword blazing. Coran watched it sliced the beast in two. As worm entrails and scaultrite floated in the vacuum of space, that face looked on. Coran had collapsed into hysterical laughter as he realized they were saved.

“See, look there, did you see it?” Hunk’s voice brought Coran out of his reverie. On the monitor, the beautiful robot was no more, just five lions floating in space

“See what?” asked Lance.

“Exactly, it wasn’t there. Rewind the video, Pidge.” The Green Paladin initiated a quick two keystrokes gestures and the sequence went back to just after Voltron’s face had emerged. “There,” said Hunk as the Red Lion’s arm dislocated, followed by the Blue and Yellow legs falling away. Green held on, but then the Black Lion’s four legs popped out and it too was knocked off.

“You saw what didn’t happen, right?” asked Hunk.

“Yep, we totally missed it,” agreed Lance.

“What are we supposed to not be seeing, Hunk?” asked Allura.

Pidge ran the video backwards, frame by frame. The circle of Paladins all leaned closer to the monitor. They were seated around a table studying footage from the last unsuccessful Voltron session, attempt number three.

“Stop,” said Hunk. “During that arm stretch, there should be an arc of energy that shoots between the hands. That’s a critical step in the transformation.”

“I just assumed that was macho robot posturing,” said Pidge.

“Well, it does look cool,” admitted Hunk, “but we can’t form Voltron without it. See, all that other stuff that goes on is mechanical and it’s driven by the individual Lions’ own Quintessence. But Voltron taps into the highest quality of Quintessence, which is a synergistic amalgamation of all five. That’s when Voltron gets its massive power, and also its special magic attacks.” 

“So, how do we get Voltron to make that Quintessence arc?” asked Keith.

“I don’t know,” admitted Hunk, “I’m an engineer, not a Seltevian technomage.”

The group lapsed into silence and every ounce of Coran’s nature was itching to say something. But even he was at a loss.

They’d tried everything -- mental projections, trust-building exercises, Yellmar food fights and even that highly entertaining synchronized computer dancing game that Pidge suggested. None had worked. Oh, the team passed all the exercises with flying colors, they’d improved both individually and as a team considerably since they first arrived, but every time they attempted to actually form Voltron, the lions just fell apart.

“I think Keith’s doing something wrong,” said Lance, “cause the rest of us are transforming into appendages just fine. And the Black Lion’s just standing there. Shouldn’t he be tapping into Quintessence or something?

Keith pursed his lips but did not reply. Coran wasn’t sure if he was showing maturity or confusion. He’d done a respectable job stepping into the role as team leader, especially when it came to strategy and training, but he lacked Shiro’s talents in harnessing and directing his teammates’ abilities.

“It could be a lion soap opera thing,” said Hunk, “We know Red’s temperamental, and now she’s joining up with Black who’s being piloted by her ex-paladin. Awkward.”

“I don’t get that feeling from her,” said Allura, “She wants to join, she does join. It must be me. On some critical level, I’m failing to connect.”

“Princess-“ Keith said softly but Coran didn’t think she heard him over Lance saying “No, it’s definitely Keith.”

At times like this, it wasn’t so important to do the correct thing as it was to just do something. Maybe if Coran constructed an obstacle-course scavenger-hunt, with costumes. Yes, that should work. Coran was just opening his mouth when a deep female voice cut in.

“I come bearing a message,” Nannee stood in the door frame, her eyes were slits and her arms were raised dramatically.

“From Slav?” asked Coran. Slav had been doing a probability experiment that involved flipping a coin over and over. Maybe he’d found something.

“No,” said Nannee slowly, theatrically, “from one of the Guardians of the Castle.” Coran involuntarily glanced up at the air above them.

“You mean … a Lion?” asked Hunk.

Nannee nodded, “It was, in fact, your Yellow Lion.”

“Like in words?” continued Hunk, “because I often get a feeling from her, but only that. Shiro’s Black Lion sent him a vision once. Coran, did the old Paladins actually talk to their lions?”

“No, not in words, I don’t-“ but Nannee cut him off.

“It was a vision. I saw a pack of five lions. They stood against a tiger of immense size, capable of taking them down one by one. Only the lions attacked in perfect synchronization, bringing the beast down. But in the fight, the lions’ leader perish- err, vanished into the mists. Another large cat appeared, but she wasn’t a lion. She had spots and the other lions stepped away, unwilling to let her join.” She moved her hands to praying gesture. Frankly, if Coran had to not understand an explanation, he preferred Hunk’s technobabble to this newcomer’s messages.

“Hang on,” said Pidge, “was this new cat a spotted leopard or a cheetah?” She flipped her floating monitor to reveal two spotted cat creatures.

Nannee’s confidence faltered for a moment, “I’m not sure,” she said carefully.

“Because,” explained Pidge, “cheetahs are the fastest land animals on Earth while leopards are-“

“Pidge,” cried Lance, “it’s metaphor!” Nannee nodded and gave the Blue Paladin a grateful look that, had he been paying attention to her, would have short circuited his teenage boy brain.

“I know that Lance,” said Pidge, “but we need to understand the subtleties-“

“No, we don’t,” insisted Lance, “it’s about accepting the Princess into our pride,” Coran gave him a quizzical look, “err, our pack of lions.” Lance amended.

“But we do accept the Princess,” said Hunk, “she’s our commander and we’d follow her everywhere. Right?” he turned to Nannee for confirmation.

“But, is she one of your pride?” asked Nannee.

“You’re saying we haven’t accepted her as one of us?” asked Pidge, “Because she’s like royalty, or an alien, or 10,000 years old?”

“I am but a humble vessel, conveying a message from one who is far wiser,” said Nannee, not sounding the least bit humble.

“Did the Yellow Lion ‘say’ anything else?” asked Keith.

Once again, Coran caught a change in Nanee’s body language. She gave the Black Paladin a very measured gaze. “No, that was all. Perhaps I will be granted more visions in the future.”

“Well,” Keith turned away from Nannee to the rest of the group, “nothing else seems to be working. Coran, do you have any diplomatting experience helping different aliens accept each other?” 

Coran stood a bit straighter as the Black Paladin brought him back into the conversation. At that moment, Coran was 100 percent Team Keith. “In fact, there was one time, I was diplomatting out a trade deal between the Ubak, an aquatic humanoid race with fish tails, and the Filabies, flying horses with a single horn in the center of their head. Talk about not seeing eye-to-eye.

“Talks were breaking down until the two leaders just happened to get themselves locked in a soundproof room without their communication devices, for three days. Fortunately, it was the caterer’s prep room, so plenty of food and alcoholic beverages. After about a day of silence, the two started talking, opening up about all sorts of things – their childhoods, hobbies, pet peeves and favorite colors. Nothing profound, but it did the trick. By the time they were rescued, they’d all but promised their offspring in marriage. They’d made a connection, bonded, I suppose you could say.”

“So, you’re going to lock us up in a room with Allura?” asked Pidge.

“Don’t forget the booze,” added Lance.

“Are you ascribing such a devious trick to me?” asked Coran, “why, I’m flattered. But I don’t think we need something that extreme. A few hours spent with each of you, one on one with Princess Allura ought to do it. Pick an Earth activity or something to get the ball rolling and you’ll bond in no time.”

“Coran,” said Allura clasping her hands “what a splendid plan!”

Coran tried not to preen too obviously. He looked at the other Paladins in turn. Hunk was slowly nodding as he wrapped his mind around the idea. Pidge was already there, the gears in her mind spinning and making plans. Keith was … Keith, did he practice looking blank? No matter, Lance was grinning plenty enough for both.

*****

“What makes you so confident in this creature’s potential as Robeast?”

Haggar looked up from prone Apocryptean strapped to the table and stared at her latest druid novice. He had undergone the first steps of his initiation, but those modifications were largely internal. The elongation of his body and procedure to fuse his mask to his face would take place later. But it was his attitude, rather than his short, somewhat-bulky appearance, that made him different from any of her previous initiates.

The witch was used to druids being seen, not heard, like the two stationed at the chamber’s entrance. Curiosity seemed integral to this alien’s species makeup. Frankly, she’d never have selected him from the work camp if she hadn’t been desperate. And in her defense, he had outperformed every other candidate on both the mental and Quintessence resonance testing.

It was a risk, grooming an Earthling to be a Druid. They were a strange mix of violence and sentimentality. The Champion, who she’d studied at length, could, without mercy, slice through an opponent stepping over their body without a second glance. But outside the arena, he offered comfort to his cellmates – sharing food, tending to their injuries and telling jokes and stories. One night he led the entire cell block in sing-a-long. After that, she had him transferred to solitary confinement. His Galra trainers foolishly feared his physical abilities. Haggar knew better. The Champion was a born leader. Even in chains, he would spark a revolution.

And this one was no safer. But she’d seen through the Champion and she’d see through Samuel Holt as well. If he became a liability, she had plan.

“You doubt my choice of P’Talaqous”? asked Haggar, her voice dripping with menace, “Pray tell, why?” 

Samuel did not cower. It wasn’t that he was impervious to the threat of physical pain. He’d begged for release during the enhancement process same as any of her druids. But in the realm of intellectual engagement, he was oblivious to the dangers of questioning her.

“It has no ears and only rudimentary eyes,” he said. “Perhaps on a planet it can get by with just smell and touch, but how would it manage a fight with Voltron? There’s no odor in space. Even if we supplemented its senses, there’s not much processing power in its brain. This race’s strength came from numbers, not individual initiative.”

Haggar took in his words. She hadn’t given him any background on the Apocryptean, just P’Talaquos’s medical examination. His assessment was correct. 

“The Apocryptean infestation was more complicated than a plague,” Haggar responded. “By themselves, they were little better than animals. But as they infected and subsumed other aliens, they augmented themselves with not only their hosts’ senses, but their intellect and sentience as well. Behold P’Talaquos’s brain.”

Haggar reached out and pressed down on the Apocrytean’s head. The alien didn’t stir. She’d been anesthetized and also shackled, splayed out like bug in a collector’s display. In this position she seemed less massive, more spindly. The Robeast’s outer shell would compensate for these weaker connections.

When Haggar pulled her hand away, a display filled with intersecting and branching lines appeared above the alien. Most of P’Talaquos’s neural net’s connections were a dull gray, corresponding to the minimal brain activity due to her drugged state.

“The brain is … unusual,” admitted the Earthling, “The basic properties for processing are in place, but there’s a lot of empty space. If you change the way it’s represented …” he raised his hands and called out an interface, his fingers twitched a few moments and then the neural net reformed. The whole structure stretched to twice its initial size and the lines rearranged, displaying gaping holes. “See, all those unfinished connections? If a student of mine designed it, I’d give them an incomplete.”

“A naive answer, predictable from an individual whose planet-bound race lacks the capacity and experience to comprehend the nearly infinitive variations of life that fill the universe.” She made sure to give no hint that Samuel’s mastery of the Druid’s control systems was remarkable.

“So, that’s what this alien race is?” Samuel kept his response equally mild, “an impossibly improbable parasitic brain, practically incapable of surviving as an isolated species but somehow perfectly adapted to cannibalize any random alien that has the misfortune to be its host?”

Samuel phrased the question rhetorically, but it was obviously aimed at her. The impertinence these Earthlings showed, their arrogance towards collective wisdom, their unwillingness to accept reality -- by all rationalizations, she should have eliminated Samuel weeks ago. And yet, despite their bumbling around in the dark, this Earthling may have seen something she’d missed.

“You think this creature’s ancestors were modified? Adapted to be a bioweapon?” It wasn’t possible. From childhood she had known that the Apocrypteans were the manifestation of the universe’s inherent nature to devolve into chaos and oblivion, a justification for a unifying and omnipotent intelligence to counter the laws of entropy. To suggest that they were a tool, designed by an intelligent species was too – no, Samuel must be mistaken.

Samuel studied the projection and said nothing. He was incapable of lying to her, that was one of the first modifications she’d made to his physiology. Even the most trivial untruth spoken to Haggar would leave the druid writhing in pain, which was one of the main reasons most druids held their tongues. Samuel’s solution appeared to be a careful phrasing of his words. Upon replaying their conversations, Haggar had learned a great deal from the things he left out.

“If this creature’s genetic code is representative of all Apocrypteans, then yes, it has been modified. See, there are two different types of missing neural links. These ones,” he indicated the empty spaces where unconnected lines dangled, “are how she connects her brain to different aliens to pull in their senses and increase her mental capacity. And then there’s these three, here,” he pointed at one large spot where the connection seemed to turn away, like an abscess. The other two examples were smaller and he had to zoom in to show that they had the same morphologies. “These are just dead space. Now, compare the gene mapping to these two conditions.” 

Samuel stopped mid-lecture and looked carefully at her. The druid mask obscured his expression but through her control of Quintessence, Haggar could tell he was judging her understanding of his theory.

“Sorry, that’s Earth terminology.” Apparently, he felt he needed simplify his explanation. “Basically, think of how much of this creature’s genetic code, we call it DNA, is utilized to create these structures in its brain. With the connectable neurons, there’s hundreds of genes involved.” The monitor was filled with letter sequences, Samuel’s genes. “It’s like using a full tool box to construct a machine. Only it has feedback loops that modify the genes, er, tools so they can build connections based on the alien host’s brain. I can only guess the mechanism, something between a cancer’s evolution and immune cells expansion, only supercharged … Remarkable.” Samuel, lost in his own thoughts, leaned in to study the displays.

He thought himself clever. As if his prattle was some universal truth. Samuel was a child compared to her intellect. Why, if her obligations to the empire weren’t so numerous and important, she could have devoted a few quintents to mastering Earth’s biology, these genes and DNA, to replicate its evolutionary history from scratch. Earthlings were just one of the many forgettable races. Samuel’s insights were no more extraordinary than the Champion’s fighting skills. Well, like the Champion, Samuel’s skills would serve her and the empire.

“Actually, I don’t know what’s going on here.” Samuel concluded, oblivious to Haggar’s thoughts, to the decision she’d just made. “Physiologically, cognitively, genetically, this is all so far beyond any Earth model. I could probably devote my life to studying P’Talaquos and never truly understand how the Apocrypteans do what they do.” His voice didn’t seem discouraged by this challenge. “However, look at this other type of non-connections. See how few genes are required to build them?” he gestured and the alphabet jibberish was replaced by a handful of short letter strings. “and they’re the same genes. These are off switches, requiring only basic gene editing to remove some function that someone didn’t think the Apocrypteans, or at least P’Talaquos, needed. How does it compare to your other Apocryptean samples?”

“My other samples?” asked Haggar.

“Well, surely you must have studied Apocryptean biology prior to your manipulation of this creature when you found her in that carnival. How else would you have known what to feed her to give her sentience, or how to construct the staff you gave her to replicate the abilities of a queen Apocryptean?”

Haggar chuckled darkly at his naïve assumption. Now it was her turn to be superior. 

No matter the strange genius of the Earthlings, they had none of the metaphysical powers of an Altean. They were as blind, deaf, and mute to the Quintessence that connected the universe as the unmodified P’Talaquos had been to her surroundings.

“I don’t need to peck away at genes or brain connections, Earthling,” she raised her hands to gather the stray quintessence that floated about the ship. Samuel’s back straightened. Good, he could sense her power. “You are a neophyte who’s taken barely the first step on the path to true understanding. You see connections and gaps but I see all. And I understand: P’Talaquos, and through her, the long dead race that spawned her. I only needed to see her once in that carnival cage to know what was limiting her and how to bring about her full potential. It’s like a child with a pile of blocks. I don’t need to study. I just reach out and stack one block upon the next to build her into the monster that she could be, to unleash her potential. And now, I have larger blocks and the monster I will build will overshadow anything that P’Talaquos, or any individual Apocryptean, has been capable of. She will be bigger, stronger, and will defeat Voltron once and for all.”

“So, you plan to supplement her sensory and mental deficits by connecting her to other aliens,” there was a quaver to Samuel’s voice. He knew he had overstepped his bounds.

“Of course,” she replied.

Haggar waved her hands and multiple screens shimmered into existence. Each showed an alien being wired up and installed in a milky white sphere. With the connection of the first wire, they would struggle, but by the time the last one was attached, they were limp. Meanwhile on the display of P’Talaquos’s neural net, holes were being filled. The line connections within them were so dense, they made for a field of almost solid color. On the table P’Talaquos’s body began to twitch.

“Visual, auditory, reflexes, spatial analysis, tactical response,” Samuel announced as the abilities were incorporated into P’Talaquos, “now all it lacks is a brain capable of reasoning and forming creative solutions.”

“I already have the perfect subject,” said Haggar. She motioned with her staff and other two druids glided instantly to Samuel’s sides. In a single motion they took hold of his arms. Samuel glanced wildly and opened his mouth, probably to protest and not theorize this time, but one of the druids had already plunged the injector in Samuel’s neck. He folded like a rag doll and was dragged out of the room.

Haggar remained in the room, studying P’Talaquos’s now active neural net and replaying Samuel’s words. The Earthling had seen something in this alien’s makeup, something she had missed. But in the grander scheme, in the master plan for the Galra Empire, he was just one more pawn.

On the display, the final hole filled with connections. Her creature was complete. Haggar again raised her staff, preparing for the transformation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that went a bit dark. I promise a fluffy friendship chapter next.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author references three literary works that she hopes her readers will catch, and she promises, nothing bad happens to anyone.

“Okay, so this is an old family recipe I used to make with my grandmother,” said Hunk, “or rather, it’s based off her chocolate chip cookie recipe. The base starch is more glutinous than floury, the eggs are green, I’m using a syrup rather than crystalized sugar, and I haven’t found anything that resembles chocolate. But the baking soda is 100 percent chemically correct and, unlike my last attempt, these will not taste like pork.”

Allura was wearing one of those confused but upbeat smiles she so often used around the humans. “So, this passing down of cooking procedures is an Earth custom?” 

She didn’t look as thrilled as Hunk had hoped she would. Maybe he should have let her lick the spoon. 

Maybe they should have gone with alcohol in the locked room. Of course it would be great to be pals with Allura. But she was a 10,000-year-old alien magical princess and he was a 17-year-old boy. Other than saving the universe together, they didn’t have much in common.

He was just about to explain to Allura the importance of not over-stirring the batter when Allura startled and her eyes went wide. “Oh, no, the mice,” she whispered.

A split second later, there came a horrible mooing. “Kaltenecker!” cried Hunk. 

They both raced out the kitchen door and down the corridor. 

After Lance and Pidge had acquired their pet bovine, Coran had converted one of the store rooms into a sort of greenhouse. Kaltenecker didn’t seem to mind that the grass was purple and Pidge had built a Roomba-like robot to pick up cow pies. Kaltenecker was a very sweet heifer and Hunk had found grooming her to be excellent therapy when things got too stressful.

Which was why the sight of her lying on her side, tied down to the lawn Gulliver’s Travels-style with tiny crisscrossing ropes was horrifying. Around her, three of the space mice held up toothpicks menacingly.

“What’s going on?” cried Allura.

“Squeek, squeak, squeak, squeak!” the grey mouse replied. The big and tiny mice nodded emphatically. If Lance or Pidge had been around, Hunk would have said something about Timmy falling down the well, but since Allura wouldn’t get it, he stayed silent.

“You’re saying the cow ate Pinky?” asked Allura. That’s the name they’d given the pink space mouse because she was, well, pink. 

“Squeek.” they all squeek together.

“But cows are herbivories,” protested Hunk.

“Squeek, squeak, squeeeek,” went the smallest mouse, tears welling up in its adorably big eyes.

“He said Pinky was sleeping in the straw pile Kaltenecker was eating from, and now she’s gone.” translated Allura.

Well, Kaltenecker did like to eat. It was possible she might have swallowed the rodent. Hunk looked gingerly at the cow’s mouth for mouse hair, or a tail. Beside him, Allura had closed her eyes in a one-with-the-universe way.

“Wait a moment,” she said, “are you sure it was this pile of hay?”

She pointed at a pile on the other side of the room. The space mice huddled briefly before scampering over to the other pile and throwing hay everywhere. “Squeek eek eek!” said the biggest mouse, and he sounded happy. A pink pile of fur sat up and rubbed her eyes, “Squu eek?” Happy space mouse dancing commenced.

“Uh hmm,” Allura pointedly cleared her throat. The mice paused in their jubilations and looked guiltily at the cow, except for Pinky who just looked sleepy. “Squeek,” went the mice and they set about chewing through Kaltenecker’s restraints. When the last of them snapped, the bovine got to her feet with a grunt. She gave them a measured look before she started eating from a mouse-free hay pile.

“She’s quite the even-tempered animal,” commented Allura.

“Well, humans domesticated them a long time back,” said Hunk. He patted the cow on her neck, she ignored him.

“I suppose that makes them easier to raise and slaughter,” said Allura.

“Oh, Kaltenecker’s not beef cattle. She’s a dairy cow. Don’t worry girl,” he told the cow, “no one’s making hamburger out of you.”

“Dairy…” Allura seemed to be turning the word over in her mind, “You mean you drink the milk that comes out of her…” Allura had the uncomfortable look of someone trying very hard not to look uncomfortable.

“Oh, it’s delicious,” assured Hunk, “And it’s not just for drinking. We make butter and cheese and yogurt and ice cream.” Ice cream, it had been such very, very, very long time, “It’s like the world’s best food goo, but frozen.”

“That… actually sounds tasty,” said Allura. “When will Kaltenecker start producing milk?”

“Well, she won’t,” sighed Hunk, visions of mock-cookie dough ice cream melting under the cruel glare of reality. “She needs to calve and the nearest bull is on the other end of the universe.”

“Of course, pregnancy,” said Allura, “But couldn’t you simulate that with hormones?”

“Um, maybe. But that’s not engineering or computer science so it’s kind of out of Pidge’s and my expertise.”

“Maybe I could figure it out?” said Allura.

“You could extrapolate the hormonal and physiological changes in the life cycle of an alien creature?” He was still getting over his amazement at how fast she mastered piloting the Red Lion. Were all space princesses Wonder Woman?

“Back before the war, I was training to be a planet biodiversity engineer,” said Allura, “I’m not sure if you Earthlings have those, think of it like a doctor, but for an ailing planet.”

“You mean like the time when you brought the Balmera back to life?”

“Similar, but with less mystic forces and glowing and more biochemistry and genetics.”

“Wow,” said Hunk, “on Earth our royalty spends most of their time doing ceremonial stuff and appearing in tabloid stories. Could you be a planet doctor and still be Queen?”

Allura’s smile dropped. “I never thought I would be queen,” she said. “My mother had an older brother who already had four children by the time I was born. Their entire family, the queen included, was killed when their transport shuttle exploded. At the time, we thought it was an accident, but …”

“Zarkon,” Hunk finished, “My uncle died suddenly, I can’t imagine losing my cousins and aunt too.” He wondered if he was allowed to hug a princess, but Allura was now a fellow Paladin now. Hunk put his arm around her and felt Allura relax.

“There were so many people I knew on that ship,” said Allura, “Members of the court, teachers, servants, several of my classmates. Soon afterwards I volunteered to come to the Castle of Lions, to take on the role my mother once had, enabling the castle to do wormhole jumps and guiding the Quintessence.”

“How old were you?” asked Hunk.

“Fourteen,” said Allura, “Pidge’s age.”

“Was it rough?” asked Hunk.

“In the beginning, it was wonderful,” said Allura. “On Altea things had changed so much. And it hurt being around so much that was familiar but not right. On the Castle, there weren’t bad memories. My father was here, and Coran too. And Lithelia, the Yellow Paladin, was like a substitute mother. Working with them made me feel grown up and part of something bigger.”

She was quiet and Hunk was reluctant to ask the question banging on the inside of his head to get out. Allura wouldn’t want to talk about it, but he really wanted to know. Really, really.

It got out. “What was Zarkon like?”

“He was …” long pause, “He wasn’t around a lot. He was the heir to the Galra throne and had many obligations. Often he was off on secret missions, either alone or with one of the Paladins. Even when he was around, he didn’t interact much with the Castle’s crew. Managing the ship was my father’s duty. I mostly remember Zarkon nodding stiffly if he passed me in the hallway.”

“Thanks,” said Hunk, “I understand why you don’t want to talk about him. It just seems weird, knowing someone that evil lead Voltron.”

Allura nodded and Hunk figured it was time to change the subject. “Hey, so, like we can get old Kaltenecker lactating? Because I’ve got so many recipes I want to try.”

“Yes,” said Allura, perking up. “I need to take some genetic samples to analyze. I can start-“

“Hey,” Pidge stuck her head through the door, “I thought you were baking. I was expecting to have warm cookies to snack on while Allura and I bond.”

“What, are you two going to do?” aske Hunk.

“Binge watch something.”

“What? how’s watching TV a bonding experience?”

“It’s what we’re watching,” and before Hunk could probe further, she said, “it’s a girl thing, you wouldn’t get it.”

*****

Pidge had commandeered the lounge and set up a cloth screen opposite the couch.

“Technically, I could just run it on the ship’s holo projection system,” she explained to Allura, “but I’m a bit of a purist. Shows look best on an actual screen.”

“We’re going to be watching an Earth show?” asked Allura. She looked enthusiastic. That was good. Pidge had known, when Coran had instructed the Paladins to come up with an activity they liked for the bonding session, that introducing Allura to the joy of coding was not going to work. And you couldn’t role play with just one person. That’s why she settled on a movie night. 

Unfortunately, as spectacular as Pidge’s science fiction collection was, she didn’t think it was quite right. The princess needed something more … girly. What Pidge had selected would fit the bill. And so help the Y-chromosome Paladins if they gave her grief for it.

“Yeah. It’s a classic Earth story, and should give you some insight into our culture and customs.”

“That sounds marvelous,” said Allura. “A narrative from a pre-space society unexploited by the Galra sounds idyllic. What is it about?”

“Well,” Pidge took a deep breath. This was so going to spoil her street cred. “This isn’t usually my genre. It’s a period piece based on this really old romance novel. My mom is a huge fan of the author and we, my whole family, must have watched it like ten times with her. It was a yearly tradition in the Holt household -- kind of like comfort food and, I admit, I’ve been itching to see it again. But it doesn’t seem right, watching it by myself.”

“I’d be honored to share this tradition with you, Pidge,” said Allura.

“I figured with all the fancy dresses and dancing and courtship rituals it would be right up your alley. Plus, it’s pretty hilarious.” There, that was enough justification. 

She hit play and darkened the lights. A plinking harpsichord melody began playing and the familiar embroidered tablecloth filled the screen. The text “Colin FIRTH Jennifer EHLE” appeared. Pidge remembered that the Princess couldn’t read English and paused the recording.

“So, those are the names of the two actors that play the main roles,” her finger hovered over the play button. “I should probably give you a bit of background. When this story takes place, women couldn’t inherit their family’s estates, so that’s why everyone wanted at least one son. If you had all girls, the nearest male cousin or uncle would get the property. Most of Earth isn’t like that now,” she assured Allura.

“Anyway,” Pidge went on, “in this story, the family has five daughters and no sons, so the parents are trying to get them married off to rich husbands. The problem with their plan is that only the eldest is ‘marriageable material,’ i.e. pretty and sweet and agreeable. The other sisters are,” Pidge counted them off on her fingers, “Boy-crazy, prude, sort of an airhead and also boy-crazy, and the last is smart and she’s got a sharp tongue, she’s the protagonist. She verbally slams everyone who deserves it.”

“I can see why you enjoy this story,” said Allura, giving Pidge a sly smile.

“Yeah,” admitted Pidge. “So, there’s this one guy who’s the ultimate catch for a husband, he’s super rich and seriously handsome, we’re talking Shiro-levels. But he’s also pretty judgmental and initially they hate each other.”

“But over the course of the story they fall in love,” said Allura.

“You guessed it. I suppose it’s a fairly predictable plotline, even among alien races,” said Pidge.

“Predictable, but never-the-less enjoyable,” said Allura, she was smiling quite openly now.

“I knew you’d go for this sort of thing,” Pidge started the video again.

“Is that the title?” asked Allura when large uppercase words filled the screen.

“Yep, Pride and Prejudice.”

*****

“Are you ready to go on an adventure?” asked Lance.

“Absolutely,” replied the Princess, “Will these clothes do?”

She was wearing the silver white body suit which Lance found vastly preferable to her Red Paladin armor. He knew it had been thoroughly laundered since Keith had last worn it, but still. 

“Looks perfect to me,” said Lance.

“Are we leaving the castle?” she asked.

That had been Lance’s original plan. Find a safe planet with beautiful beaches, get Allura in a swimsuit, and frolic in the ocean. Lance had been very much looking forward to rubbing sunscreen on her back. 

But Pidge had put the kebosh on that. Apparently bonding wasn’t supposed to resemble a date. Hunk had quickly agreed, pointing out that the goal was to make things less awkward between the Paladins. Keith hadn’t said anything, but he’d noticeably relaxed when Lance suggested Plan B.

“Nope, we’re exploring the castle.”

Allura gave him a quizzical look. She waved her hands and a schematic of the castle appeared.

“Nah-ah. That’s cheating,” he pulled her hands down and the blueprints vanished, “and the stuff we’re looking for isn’t there anyway.”

“I assure you, Lance,” said Allura, “these plans are the original designs by the Altean shipbuilders, who followed them to the letter.”

“Really? And do they show the hidden room you can only access from the zip line tube to Blue’s hanger?” Lance had noticed the loose panel after a particularly damaging Galra encounter. When he went back to repair it, he realized it was on hinges.

“A room?” asked Allura. 

“Yeah,” said Lance, “it’s kind of empty, just a chair and a desk and a box of survival gear.”

“That … sounds exactly like something that Deogan, the previous Blue Paladin, would have built for himself.”

“I know. This place is so huge and we only use a small fraction. That’s when I started exploring. And I’ve found a lot.”

“Such as?”

“There’s the air duct system, a bunch of the ducts that are totally crawl-able. And it’s a fun way to sneak around the ship. You just have to be careful not to fall into any of the rotating fans.”

“You went crawling around in the air ducts?” asked Allura thoughtfully. “When was this?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Wasn’t that when our air circulation system went down?”

“Maybe,” probably best to change the subject, “but we’re not doing air ducts today. Wait until you see what I’ve found.”

Lance led her to the Castle’s main kitchen. It was large and dusty from disuse – with such a small crew it had been more comfortable to use the private kitchen close to the Paladins’ rooms. Lance and Hunk had explored it recently, hoping that perhaps some of the non-Altean crew might have other dietary preferences. That turned out to be a non-starter, but the search had resulted in what Lance thought was a spectacular discovery, just behind the industrial scale goo processors.

“Ta da!” said Lance, pointing at a large metal cupboard built into the wall. He opened it with a flourish to reveal an empty space.

“It’s a food elevator,” said Allura.

“Yeah, a genuine dumbwaiter!” Lance squealed gleefully.

Allura’s confusion deepened, “Is that some sort of Earth slang?”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s just what it’s called because, um… never mind.”

He cleared his throat and began again. “When I was a kid my grandmother read me this story about a little girl who pretended to be a spy. And she used a dumbwaiter to infiltrate a neighbor’s house. For the next few years I was obsessed with finding a dumbwaiter and trying it out. Only they’re not that common in Florida.”

Allura perked up. “Another Earth story? Like Pride and Prejudice?”

“Sure, why not,” said Lance. They were both stories, if separated by an ocean, a few centuries and their intended audiences. As long as it got Allura on board. “Look at how big this one is. We can easily fit inside.”

“You’re proposing we climb in it?” Allura laughed.

“Well, do you know where it goes?” asked Lance.

“I … don’t,” said Allura. “I’m versed in this ship’s defenses and weaponry and how to operate its jump drives, but I didn’t even know we had a dumbservant.”

“Dumbwaiter. Shall we give it a try?” Lance raised his eyebrows and smiled, for once Allura didn’t roll her eyes. “Ladies first.”

Allura crawled in and Lance hit the button. The thing used some sort of antigravity drive and quickly ascended.

“Oh my,” came Allura’s voice after a moment, “Lance come up and see this.”

The car returned, now empty, and Lance crawled in. It was even roomier than he’d originally thought. As he rode up, an idea began to take shape in the back of his mind, not that Allura would ever agree to it.

Lance pushed it aside as the car stopped and he shimmied out. He was in a midsize room dominated by an oval black table. Around the table were five high backed chairs, each sporting a familiar color. Otherwise, the room was bare. It reminded Lance of a classy board room on a TV drama.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“It’s the Paladins’ meeting room,” said Allura. “It was private, Zarkon wouldn’t allow anyone but the Paladins to enter.”

Lance snapped his fingers. “That’s why they had the dumbwaiter, to order up refreshments.”

“I suppose,” Allura lightly touched the blue chair and then went over to the red one. “Part of me thinks we shouldn’t be here. But that’s not right. We’re the Paladins now.” She took a deep breath.

“But what about Zarkon?” asked Lance. He wasn’t sure Keith would want to sit in Zarkon’s seat. He certainly wouldn’t.

“Zarkon tried to pervert the Lions and Voltron, but when his treachery was revealed, the other Paladins stood up to him. Despite his nefarious plans, Voltron remains the universe’s protector. We should reclaim this room.” Allura spoke with authority, and it had the usual effect on Lance’s hormones. “Thank you, Lance. This is an important discovery. I doubt even Deogan could have done better.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Now I want to find Coran and tell him,” she stepped to the room’s only door. Unlike every other automated door Lance had encounter in the castle, it remained closed. Allura touched the edges, nothing happened. “It appears to be locked from the outside.”

“Guess we get out the way we came in,” said Lance. He glanced toward the open dumbwaiter and that back-of-the-brain idea taunted him again. Allura was obviously in a good mood and might just go for it. “Hey, how about if we see if we can both fit in together?”

“What?” asked Allura, but she was still smiling.

Lance jumped into the dumbwaiter and squeezed to one side. “See? plenty of room.” With a shake of her head and an easy-going laugh, Allura climbed in besides him. It was a pretty tight fit, but that was the idea. Way more cozy than a Lion’s cockpit, which Lance was 90 percent certain was the closest space Keith had ever shared with Allura. Wow, she smelled incredible.

“Going down,” Lance said. He hit the side button.

It must have been their extra weight that caused the dumbwaiter car to slide past the kitchen entrance. There was still plenty of room to crawl out but Lance noticed a light coming from the crack at the base of the car.

“Hey, is there another room down there?” asked Lance.

“I don’t think so, this is right over the main hangar.”

“Hmm. Well…” Lance gave a little, okay, big bounce and the car dropped another two feet. There was a whole crawl space down there, lit by a string of awkwardly hung bulbs. Kind of creepy Christmas style. 

“Bigger than the air ducts,” commented Lance as he slid out.

The small passageway went on for about ten feet, stopping at a barricade made of wood or maybe some sort of cardboard. A five-pointed starfish-like shape was crudely painted in blue and below it were some words. Lance’s Altean was good enough to make out most of it.

“Entrance to the castle of L…” it wasn’t lions.

“Lotor,” finished Allura. She’d gone white as a sheet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually enjoy writing sweet scenes where everyone learns a bit more about each other and there aren't major misunderstandings - but they don't advance the plot as well as unreliable narrators, dialog that's misconstrued, and people intentionally or unintentionally hurting each other. 
> 
> There's a bit more fluff coming up in chapter 6, and then its back to bad things happening.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance and Allura discover one of the castle's secrets, Mavalok talks tough, and Keith suffers from imposter's syndrome.

“Lotor?” asked Lance. Was this someone he was supposed to know? Probably. Lance would be the first to admit that he zoned out when exposition got too technobabbly. 

Allura said nothing. She slipped out of the dumbwaiter and made her way towards the painted board. The corridor was small and she had to bend down to fit. Her fingers traced the blue symbol and then she pulled the plank away, revealing a medium-sized room beyond.

Or more like a space between rooms with a high ceiling, so they could stand up properly, thought Lance as he followed her through. The walls were reinforced with beams and rivets and the floor curved upward, perhaps following the roof of the hangar below.

It was illuminated by more light strings, some of them multicolored. Power cords were spliced directly into an electrical conduit in a less-than-fire-marshal approved manner. But, looking at the room’s furnishings, Lance doubted that a fire marshal, or any adult, had ever made it down here.

The place was a cardboard cargo cult version of the castle. In the center were the two navigation pedestals painted gray and reaching only to Lance’s knees. There was collection of blue bottles arranged like a Balmera crystal and what looked like several of the castle’s dessert plates hung on one wall. Underneath the “scaultrite” was a box with costumes spilling out, including one that looked like a weblum. Along the wall opposite was a rope leading to a large cardboard box with a cutout for a chair. It was painted red and was a good approximation of the scooters they used to taxi to their lions. In a back corner was a pile of cushions and blankets. Lance’s inner 7-year-old wanted to move in.

Lance took a step closer to the “navigation system” and bumped his head on something metal. Above him was a cube suspended from a string. It made an activation sound and projected a hologram of a small kid that, had he been human, Lance would assume was about 10. 

He had short, spiky, silver hair and pointed ears, but his blue corneas were set against yellow sclera and his skin was clearly purple. Lance could guess the kid’s parentage.

The projection of the boy stood with his feet planted firmly on the ground and his arm crossed in front of him in a defiant manner. He was dressed in a space suit similar to Allura’s with a narrow sword at his waist.

“Halt,” the hologram kid commanded, “only those seeking justice may enter the battleship of Prince Lotor.” He flourished the sword in a threating way which was spoiled as he reached out to push what Lance presumed was the stop button on the recording device he was using. Yeah, definitely a 10-year-old.

The video flickered and then restarted at the beginning. “Halt, only those seeking justice may enter the battleship of Prince -“ Allura waved a hand over the projecting cube, and the image froze.

“Prince?” asked Lance.

Allura took a deep breath. “Lotor was, is Zarkon’s son.” 

She stepped through the hologram to the center of the room, leaving footprints in the heavy dust. Apparently, the castle’s cleaning bots didn’t know about this place either.

“He’s still alive?” asked Lance, “how do you know?” Were Galra just that long lived? It would be just one more injustice if Keith kept his boyish good looks when Lance was hitting middle age.

“Because it was his ship that attacked the Red Lion,” she indicated another blue star, this one pained on the wall over the blankets. “I’d been hoping I was wrong about the ship’s symbol, but it matches.”

“Okay,” Lance turned this over in his mind, “but it wouldn’t have to be Lotor, it could be one of his descendants, sort of a family crest thing?”

He crossed the room to get a better look at the symbol. The blankets formed more of a nest here, with some books, a few ration bars and three lion plushies – Blue, Yellow and Green. 

“No, it’s Lotor,” said Allura, “the Blade of Marmora have confirmed he’s alive. Kolivan told me.”

“Oh,” said Lance. 

He pushed aside the blankets to find the missing lions and found three photographs plastered to the wall. The largest was an awesome group shot of the Paladins. Coran was right about his cousin, the guy was eye candy. Zarkon, on the other hand, looked as scary and emotionless as ever. A smaller image was an action shot of a red-armored King Alfor slicing through sparring bots. The last image was of a teenage Altean in a sundress, a bouquet of neon pink flowers obscuring most of her face. Lance did a double take – this was a young Allura. He was tempted to snatch it, but that would be kind of stalky-creepy.

“So,” there was no way for Lance to phrase this tactfully, “is he evil?”

He stood up to look at Allura, and saw fire in her eyes. “Of course he’s evil, he’s Gal-“ she stopped herself and said more quietly, but with no less determination, “he’s Zarkon’s son. We can’t trust him.”

“You’re probably right, now at least.” admitted Lance, “but as a kid?” he waved a hand towards the silent, sword-swinging hologram.

“He was a few years younger than me when I arrived at the castle, maybe 11.” 

“And?”

“Honestly,” Allura was scanning the castle club house derisively, “I found him to be a bit of a spoiled brat, to me at least. He worshipped my father and frankly, I don’t think he liked the idea that I was the Red Paladin’s daughter.”

Lance stole a glance at the makeshift bed and guessed the feelings were a bit more complicated. His own tween experiences had convinced him that teenage girls inhabited a different reality and he could only image what a stir Allura had caused with her arrival at the castle. Especially if the pint-sized Lotor had been anything like Nico, aka Terrorsaurus. With fighting wars and all, Lance doubted the little kid got much oversight. A thought popped into his head.

“But, he’s got an Altean mother, right?” Allura’s expression didn’t change, “was she … the Yellow Paladin?”

Allura gasped, “how did you know?”

“I figured the only way the Paladins would have allowed a child to run around on a battleship would be if both of his parents were living at the castle. And if Zarkon were going to get together with a non-Galra, she’d have to be pretty impressive.”

“Lance,” said Allura, “that’s a remarkable deduction. I hadn’t realized you were so clever.”

“One of my many hidden talents,” Lance managed not to add, you should see what I can do with my tongue and a cherry stem, darn it was hard not to flirt. “Coran speaks pretty highly of Lithelia, maybe Lotor’s not quite the evil incarnate that you’re fearing.” 

“We can’t afford to take that risk. My father and the Paladins made a grave mistake in following Zarkon. He used them, used Voltron, to advance his agenda so that when he openly betrayed them there was no way to fight back. Their mistake has brought such misery and pain to the universe.” As she spoke, Allura’s usual inspiring confidence gave way to something more melancholy until her voice was just above a whisper. “We can’t allow ourselves to fall into that trap again.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” cried Lance, walking over to her, “stop beating yourself up. Zarkon’s the bad guy here. He’s the one who manipulated and tricked you guys. You were just-”

“Idealistic and naïve fools.” Allura cut in.

Lance shook his head, “Good people.” He finished his thought. “Good people who wanted to help others and make the universe a safe place.”

Allura sighed and didn’t meet his eyes.

“So he conned you, preyed on your goodwill and betrayed you,” Lance tried again, “that hurts. But don’t be ashamed or blame the Paladins, or your father, or yourself, for believing the best in people. That’s a strength that Zarkon never had, that can keep you going in the face of really scary opponents. It’s what’s going to defeat him in the end. Got it?”

It was a really great pep talk, if he did say so himself. Allura’s frown had turned into a seriously cute smile and her ears did that dipping down wiggling thing that made his heart do cartwheels. If that wasn’t enough to overload his brain, she reached out and embraced him.

“Thank you, Lance.” She said into his ear, “You’re right. Trusting in others, building alliances, that’s how we’ll win against the Galra Empire.”

“Yeah, now you’re talking,” said Lance, breathing in Allura’s shampoo or whatever it was that gave off the heady floral smell.

Allura pulled back, her eyes all sparkly.

“It was trusting the Blade that gave us the resources to defeat Zarkon in battle.” Lance nodded in agreement, “And when Keith told us he was part Galra, my instinct was still to trust him. I’m glad I realized that.” Lance stopped nodding in agreement. 

“And,” she continued, “when the five of you showed up in the castle, strange aliens with funny ears, we did the right thing, entrusting the lions to you.”

“You’ve got a lion of your own right now,” said Lance, “trust yourself.”

“Yes,” said Allura. And then she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 

Allura. 

Kissed. 

Lance slapped his hand over the spot. Like the kiss would fly away or something. He didn’t know. His brain wasn’t quite working.

Allura gave him a confused, concerned look. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I get that Earth custom wrong?”

“Custom?” Lance croaked. Could she have been aiming for his lips? Unlikely. But, maybe?

“Like in Pride & Prejudice.” Allura explained and Lance’s expectations took a nose dive. They didn’t even hold hands until the wedding. “In the performance Pidge showed me, the girls often kissed their female friends in that manner. Pidge said that current Earth societies aren’t so gender segregated, so I assumed that it was a reasonable act between close friends, like we are.”

“Oh, it’s alright. Totally alright.” Lance stopped her there before she could downgrade the moment any more. “But it can be a bit of a surprise, so be careful how you employ it. Definitely not on anyone with quick reflexes.”

“All right then,” said Allura, back in professional princess mode. “Let’s go inform Coran about the Paladin meeting room we discovered.” 

She turned away and waved a hand to dismiss the Lotor projection. Lance caught the swinging cube and placed it in his pocket. Allura was holding the plank open for him and he followed her to the dumbwaiter. This time he let Allura get in by herself. He dropped to his knees to push the shelf up. 

“What’s with that face?” Allura asked him, “you look rather unfocused.”

“Marry me,” it just slipped out. Lance felt his face go red.

Allura just laughed. She reached up for the ledge above and pulled the dumbwaiter up. Okay, thought Lance, he could work with that. 

*****

Whatever technology Voltron and the Blade of Marmora has used to vanish Zarkon’s battle fortress had obviously come from the Olkavi. To protect the not-so-secret race from Galra retaliation, the Blade had forgone their usual stealth routine and were operating out in the open from an accessible space station orbiting Olkarion while they constructed a planetary defense system. 

Once it was up and running it would bend gravity or fold the solar system into a pocket universe or something mathy. He had the technology speculation section in the information packet Emaksolam had given his for this mission. In Mavalok’s opinion, the best defense was a quick and lethal offense. And regardless of how nerdly awesome the final safeguard would be, its current incomplete state meant both the Olkavi and Blade were vulnerable, hence the large number of Blade patrols of armed-to-the-teeth fighters.

None of which would have hampered Mavalok if he’d wanted to sneak in. The Galra empire had mined out most of Olkarion’s natural resources so he could have stowed away on an inbound cargo transport ship, or bribed one of his group’s contacts to rotate him in with the next set of Blade reinforcements. 

But this was an official, political mission, and Mavalok was going to be diplomatic.

“Hey,” he shouted into the intercom, “I’m here to talk to whoever’s in charge. I’ve got 12 canisters of high grade Quintessence fuel flanging into an unstable Balmera crystal. If I so much as see an ion cannon swivel in my direction I’m flipping a switch that will convert me, my ship, and a good portion of your pathetic excuse for space station into background radiation. Your call.”

Emaksolam had positioned the wormhole to open just in front of the Blade’s station, so that Mavalok’s shuttle had almost collided with it when it appeared out of the blue circle. Any scan of his ship would verify Mavalok’s explosive device threat. He planned to offer the Quintessence as part of the negotiations, making it both a deterrent and incentive.

“You think this place isn’t armored enough to handle your puny bomb?” the Galra on the comlink responded, “Identify yourself and give us a good reason not to blow you to bits and enjoy the fireworks.”

The Galra was bluffing. They obviously didn’t know what to make of the blue wormhole or Mavalok’s obviously Galra ship which bore no empire or Blade markings. Mavalok smiled, partly because plans were so much fun when they worked out and partly because, after three years of scampering around the universe and contorting his natural responses to adhere to ridiculous alien customs and protocols, it felt good to deal with someone who knew how to communicate.

“I am Mavalok. I represent Commander Emaksolam, who could eat your hide-in-the-shadows lot for breakfast. He’s noticed your recent endeavors against the Empire and in the off chance that you’ve actually grown a pair, would like to parlay.”

By this point, the Blade’s armed fighter ships had formed an arc behind him. The com link went quiet and while Mavalok waited for them to make up their minds, he amused himself by firing up random micro-thrusters. With each of his ship’s small, sudden movement the fighters would flinch. After a few dobashes, the com came back on.

“Commander Kolivan will consider your offer. Follow the lead fighter to our airlock. Any deviation from the flight path we’ve sent you and we blow you into cosmic stardust.” 

At the station, they tied up his hands, of course, but only relieved him of his two visible weapons. Perhaps they were bored and looking for a bit of a scuffle. Oh well, business before pleasure.

Mavalok had never met Kolivan and he had to admit, the Galra was… impressive. Not quite as broad or as tall as Emaksolam, but he had a fantastic frown and his eyes conveyed perfectly how unimpressed he was with Mavalok, his fellow Galra, the Olkarion solar system, and the universe in general.

“Well?” he said.

“Commander Emaksolam proposes a face to face meeting to share intelligence and to coordinate attacks on high value Empire targets.” That was the message, word for word. Now, whatever else went down, Mavalok could honestly say he tried the official plan first.

“My sources say Emaksolam has a single battleship with a skeleton crew,” said Kolivan, “I’m at a loss to see how an alliance would benefit us.” The other Blade crew members heard their leader’s pronouncement and Mavalok could feel their already low regard for him plummeting. 

“Emaksolam has been raiding and sabotaging the Galra Empire for over a decade,” Mavalok countered, keeping his tone even. “He knows where to hit them and how to get away. Given how the Blade spends so many of their resources gathering and analyzing intelligence, you know how much of an asset Commander Emaksolam’s cooperation would be.” That got a bit of color to show on Kolivan’s cheeks. Clearly, this conversation was going to be far from boring. Good.

“Emaksolam and I were pack mates going back to our first days of training,” Kolivan said tersely, “I know the man, his strengths and his weaknesses. I’ll grant you that he’s an amazing strategist, as brave or foolhardy as our greatest warriors, and he has a decisive quality I’ve seen in few other Galra. But his values,” he spat this word out, “and his obsession with the Galraina, break with our nature and biology to the point of being a perversion.”

“You know nothing of the lives of the Galraina,” oh, this was so on. “How they, more than any male Galra, suffer under Zarkon’s edicts and control: corralled on the Alonial Ring, forbidden to leave or choose their own mates, treated as much as slaves as any prisoners trapped in one of the Emperor’s work camps.”

“I know it is our duty as the Galrainas’ sons to protect our mothers, aunts and sisters. And one that I will continue to abide by for as long as I draw breath,” Kolivan could really pull off a sneer, “I have heard Emaksolam’s version of freedom and I wonder how many of the Galraina would take his offer.”

“At least he would make them the offer!” Mavalok had to hold himself back, the man’s disrespect towards Emaksolam was bad enough, but his sense of entitlement and ignorance made his blood boil.

Kolivan sighed, signaling he was done with this conversation. “What specifically does Emaksolam have to offer us?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mavalok wasn’t as good at dialing back his emotions, “wormhole technology, a supply of Quinescence, and an established spy network in the Alonial Ring system to monitor Lotor’s new headquarters there.” Kolivan’s eyes widened. So, his contacts hadn’t informed him Lotor’s relocation, good to note. “I think you should be asking us what we want in exchange?”

“Clearly, you want to an introduction with Princess Allura and the Paladins of Voltron. The Princess has certain hard-earned prejudices against the Galra Empire and is not inclined to partner with someone of Emaksolam’s reckless reputation.”

Mavalok would like nothing so better to inform the Blade commander of his own experience fighting alongside the Blue Paladin, but Kolivan was correct, Emaksolam wanted Mavalok to prove their group’s worthiness through action. Showing up with an ancient Altean battleship manned by Galra might not make the best first impression. 

Mavalok just needed an opportunity to help the Paladins out, preferably one that involved explosions. And the Blade’s operation here was a calling card for the Empire to show up, guns blazing. But to hang out here he needed to convince Kolivan that that Emaksolam actually thought the Blade was a worthy partner.

“Neither you nor Voltron have the luxury of disregarding useful allies. The Blade is stretched thin with this new active role and you can’t risk pulling out your deep operatives. The Castle of Lions’ personnel are even fewer. The universe is filled with individuals willing to go against the Empire. Some have good hearts; a lot will gladly stab you in the back. You need Emoksolam’s contacts and info to know who to trust.”

“And you need Voltron and the Blade to get Lotor out of the Alonial Ring and away from the Galraina colony.”

“We need the Galra Empire out of the Alonial Ring so the Galraina can be free, so they can make their own choices,” Mavalok corrected him. And the Galraina had made their decision several generations ago, but Mavalok couldn’t let that slip or the game would be up.

“And if they don’t choose Emaksolam’s version of freedom? If they choose dignity and tradition and allegiance to the natural order, will Emaksolam agree to that? What if they don’t want to become Emaksolam’s harem?”

And that was Mavalok’s limit. He’d taken as much of this misogynistic pile of Corvarien effluence as he could. He grabbed his sharpest hidden knife, cut through his restraints and was halfway across the room before Kolivan’s second-in-command intercepted him. Mavalok went low and slammed into the soldier’s back leg resulting in a satisfying face plant as Mavalok unbalanced him.

But the move cost him critical time. Kolivan’s hand was around Mavalok’s neck, lifting him off the ground. Mavalok thrashed and flailed to no avail, his knife was too short and Kolivan’s arms too long. Kolivan threw him against the wall.

Mavalok tasted blood on his lips. So much for the official plan. Mavalok would prefer to go through Lance anyway to get an audience with the Princess and Black Paladin, anyway. There would be the small matter of breaking himself out of whatever cell Kolivan threw him in. He’d gotten out of a weblum’s intestines before, he could get out anywhere.

As Mavalok devised the next step and the guards rounded on him, everything was interrupted by the sound of an alarm.

Kolivan turned to Mavalok with daggers in his eyes. “More of you?”

“If it’s not coming through a wormhole, it’s not us!” 

Before Kolivan could say more, a cultured, accented voice cut through on the intercom:

“Traitors to the Emperor, we’re here to destroy you.”

*****

Allura found Keith, unsurprisingly, in the training room. He was battling two sparring bots with his black bayard. The form it took for him was similar to his red bayard’s broad sword, but with a slight curve which reminded Allura of Kolivan’s Blade weapon. 

She watched him dispatch one of the fighting robots and quickly swivel to block the second one’s attack. His black short-sleeve shirt clung to his body highlighting its increasingly muscular frame. He was, what was that thing Pidge said about Mr. Darcy? Oh yes, easy on the eyes.

Keith had been a strong fighter when he’d arrived, but his commitment to training had honed his skills to Shiro’s level, or even that of her father. Their styles differed, Keith didn’t have Shiro’s obvious strength or her father’s stylish flair. Rather, the new Black Paladin fought like an extension of his weapon -- swift, precise, and deadly. Keith dove, rolled, and as he sprung up, neatly beheaded the robot. 

Keith remained still until the simulation dissolved. Then his bayard transformed and his body relaxed. “Hello Princess,” he said as he turned to her. 

His face was unusually animated from the workout; flushed cheeks and dilated eyes. 

“Your combat skills continue to improve, Black Paladin.” She wasn’t sure if it was the compliment, or the reference to his new position, but Keith stiffened and his lips fell to their usual straight line.

“Thank you, Prince- Red Paladin. How did it go, with the other Paladins?”

“It was,” Allura searched for the words, “a truly wonderful experience. I feel like I know more about them and Earth culture. I hope they enjoyed their time with me.”

“I’m sure they did,” a faint smile might have passed his lips, but Allura couldn’t be certain. She waited for him to speak but he remained silent.

“Well,” she said finally, “what do you have planned for us? Combat practice?”

“What?” Keith looked uncertain, “you mean a bonding experience? I didn’t think we needed one.” Now it was Allura’s time to give him an uncertain look and Keith stammered, “I mean, I saw you pilot the Red Lion, saw you take down those Galra fighters. I know you’re part of this team. And, honestly, I think the other Paladins have accepted you.”

“But Nannee’s vision?” Pressed Allura, “you agreed with her assessment…”

Keith shrugged, “We were all getting frustrated that Voltron wasn’t forming. We needed to take a break and a few hours of one-on-one bonding didn’t seem the worst idea. Certainly better than whatever crazy Paladin team exercise that Coran going to throw at us.” 

It was a surprisingly astute strategy and Allura was trying to think of a way to compliment Keith’s reasoning without making him uncomfortable, when he added: “If there’s anyone the team’s uncertain about, it’s probably me.”

He was avoiding her gaze so Allura had to step closer. If he was doubting his worthiness to lead the team then that could explain their formation issues.

“Keith,” she said, “you are our leader. The Black Lion has accepted you.”

“She accepted Zarkon, too,” he countered.

“You’re nothing like Zarkon.”

“I’m nothing like Shiro, either.”

“Keith-“

“No! hear me out. I’ve known Shiro since I was 12. I’ve watch him do this thing where he pulls people together, makes them into a team with a common purpose. It didn’t matter if it was a bunch of kids in a martial arts program, cadets competing in a military exercise, or the time he got the Garrison to hold a bake sale fundraiser.” Allura filed away the words bake sale for later inquiry. “He understands people and I, I just don’t. I never have. I, I just have instincts.” He clenched his fists.

“I think you should trust your instincts.”

“My instincts,” there was a fire in Keith’s eyes, “are to get into my lion and keep flying until I find Shiro!” And I would follow you, thought Allura, the force of her conviction surprising her.

Then, as often happened, the anger dropped away from Keith. The energy deflated and he just stood there with a resigned look on his face.

This wouldn’t do, for either Keith or Voltron. She needed to say the right thing, which was … The second secret weapon of Altean Diplomacy, at least according to Coran, was the strategic use of anecdotes.

Allura took a breath and began, “When Zarkon’s treachery was discovered, the other Paladins wanted my father to take on the mantle of the Black Paladin and lead the team. He couldn’t, something inside him broke and he didn’t have the strength. But you Keith, you never stop. You’ve never run away from a conflict. And your strength gives the rest of us the courage to follow you into battle.”

Keith didn’t say anything, but he did meet her eyes.

“When the team attacked Galra headquarters and Zarkon tried to steal the Black Lion, you and Red attacked Zarkon. Coran said there was no hesitation on your part.”

“I lost,” Keith reminded her. Allura shook her head gently.

“You kept Zarkon from getting the Black Lion, you distracted him so that Hunk could rescue me.” She was getting through to him, but there was still a hesitancy.

“Allura, when you were captured, everyone wanted to go after you, except… me,” Keith took a deep breath, “I argued against rescuing you, said that we weren’t ready and that preserving Voltron was more important than any one person.”

“You were right.”

“I was wrong,” Keith placed his hands on her shoulders, “I would never say that now.”

She should correct him. Clearly the fate of one person wasn’t worth jeopardizing their greater mission. But her heart was pounding hard and she couldn’t speak. His face was so close, she could see the purple glint to his eyes.

“I promise, Allura, no matter what, I will always protect you,” he spoke the words softly, but with conviction, “You’re important to me.”

A response was forming in her mind, something to match his heartfelt pronouncement. But before she could figure out what it was, the alarm system sounded, and Hunk’s voice announced: “Guys, we just got a distress signal. Kolivan says that he and the Olkari are under attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. 
> 
> After the events in this chapter I'm adding Allura/Lance to the relationship tags. Future stories will deal more directly with the love triangle, and in order to give it some punch, I'm giving Lance a reasonable chance of success. That being said, Allura has clearly kissed him into the friends' zone. 
> 
> other comments.
> 
> \- The first secret weapon of Altean Diplomacy was alcohol, or biologically appropriate mood alternating social lubricants, the third was cleavage.
> 
> \- The flier for the fundraiser read “We’re holding a Military Charity Bakesale, absolutely no profits will go to buying bombers.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to open with action scenes for this story. Next chapter will have the humorous Paladin and Coran banter that I adore writing. Thanks for reading.


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